Unpredictable Impulses
by tekaine
Summary: Based on Hwoarang's T3 ending: He's tired of fighting & being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar with some interesting results. Yaoi: Jin X Hwoarang. R for cursing, illegal actions & sex. WIP. c15 up!
1. Been So Long

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter One  
  
I know that it's probably not necessary to repeat the disclaimer and stuff on every new chapter I put up, but that's what I'm going to do- just to be safe. Hope I don't annoy anyone too badly with it… ^ ^  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & possible explicit sex later.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Hwoarang scowled at the third empty bottle on his table, wondering dully when he'd drank the last of his cheap vodka. The throbbing lights of Cafe Sans Coeur Nuit quickened his pulse, intoxicating him further. The mirrors in each wall intensified the disorienting feel of the nightclub; light refracted off disco balls hanging from the low, smoke-hazed ceiling. He plucked listlessly at his favorite purple muscle shirt and jeans, both faded almost beyond recognition. Hwoarang clenched his left hand into a fist so hard a small line of blood appeared on it, but he remained unaware, caught in the last throes of his memory.   
  
*That night…that night when I won the Tournament…* He paused a moment to consider that thought. There was no longer any pride in it, at least not for him. Not since Jin Kazama had reputedly beaten his grandfather Heihachi Mishima, grew wings, and flew away from the Tournament grounds, only to reappear in a warehouse by the docks Hwoarang and his master Baek used to train close to. He had seemed injured; he had not been wearing his fighting apparel. Hwoarang had just assumed that Heihachi's power had finally caught up with his rival, since the gunmen were… well… gunmen. In a rare empathetic moment Hwoarang tossed his trophy amongst them as a distraction, waltzed in and wasted the goons, then stepped back and offered truce with a simple, age-old gesture. *I was tired of fighting him... and at that point, I didn't really want the title anyway...* For a moment that seemed to take hours he had waited for some response, almost unsurprised when the dark-haired man whirled to leap at least thirty feet up and through the warehouse window. That had been the last time he'd heard of the guy, and it was starting to seriously bug him.  
  
"No wan hash de wight te live afer takin' so many beetin's…" he slurred aloud, then, louder, "I wan' 'nother vodka, missy-" as a woman in an apron pranced by.  
  
The waitress chewed her lip thoughtfully, looking him over as though he were a horse. "No, I don't think so. You're screwed enough." Her Irish lilt tickled his ears, bringing a sloppy half-smile to his face.  
  
"No, ne'er that," he mumbled. "Ne'er scrood enuff…" He made such a pitiful face that the waitress had to laugh, and laugh she did, for almost half a minute. She just shook her head, still laughing, and walked away as the young fighter wondered what the hell he'd said that was so funny. He stared down at his fingerless gloves, letting the heavy bass music of the latest techno remix wash over him, numbing him. He heard the waitress laughing still and scowled faintly. "Jes' stop…" he muttered.  
  
"Stop what?" Hwoarang's head lifted slowly, incredulously, at the familiar voice. There stood his old 'rival', looking even more fit and fightworthy than ever in a Hawaiian shirt, huge, baggy black pants, and a bandana. The Korean searched for something to say, then, finding nothing important, gestured wordlessly for the spiky-haired man to take a seat. Jin shrugged as he complied, his face unreadable as he studied Hwoarang and the three bottles. An abrupt laugh broke the unexpectedly uncomfortable silence. "Is this what the King of the Iron Fist Tournament does for fun nowadays? Getting trashed at the most fancy nightclub in town… but on cheap liquor? I thought your tastes had become much more refined than that."  
  
Hwoarang made a lame attempt at a joke, still slumping listlessly. At least he managed to keep the majority of the alcohol from his voice, although the effort was a buzz-killer. "It's only been three years… give me time, yo."   
  
His old rival snorted. "You look like hell."  
  
"I feel like it, too."  
  
"So, ah… what *does* royalty like you do after whipping ass in the Tournament?"  
  
"There's no one like me," Hwoarang stated with a sad half smirk. Something of a blush (or was it the affects of the alcohol?) spread across his cheeks. "I've… I've been going to college," he confessed, staring down into his empty glass. "Taking a lot of Philosophy and Economic Studies and… and some Astronomy."  
  
Jin sat back, dark eyes narrowing a little. "You go by a pen name, don't you. Kotun Mikoshi, if I'm not mistaken? And you wear glasses and geeky clothes and a hat to get around being recognized. Hmph. I thought I'd seen Kotun before. You sit two rows up from me in Chemistry, and Mrs.Easeth speaks highly of you in Philosophy. Who'd have thought Sir Bloody Talon would get high marks in - GASP - Philosophy of all things! Betcha can't wait for autumn semester huh?" Hwoarang squirmed a little at the teasing-yet-serious tone.  
  
"Yeah, well, there's nothing else for me. I've already decided that I'm not the true King of Iron Fist. YOU were. I just got that damned trophy and…" his voice faltered as he remembered yet again the warehouse scene. "Anyway… I can't think of what I want to do in life yet, and I don't want to take any old mundane factory job that comes my way. I feel like a stray sock, you know; useless alone, something to be hung up and ignored until its mate is found." He shrugged, pursing his lips as though he thought he'd said too much for his own comfort. Jin stared all too closely at him and he felt compelled to make one last confession, though it came out garbled and unwilling. "I tried to kill myself. About a year after the warehouse… I'm not strong enough, as a fighter, and I don't feel called to do anything else but fight. I didn't see a reason not to end my life after so much bull shit. Everyone wanted me dead anyway," he mumbled bitterly.  
  
"Not me," Jin contradicted him stoically, looking down at his hands where they lay on the tabletop. "At least, not after that night." The dark man stressed the words with almost reverent tones, as though he thought it had been… important, somehow… also. He looked up and stared at Hwoarang with intense, narrowed eyes. "I think it was STUPID of you to try to kill yourself. I mean - how will you know if you have a calling or not just by the first twenty-one years? Now that you're taking classes again, you're much more likely to find something you enjoy and stick with it. Right? I mean, these are supposed to be the best years of our lives: we're paid to learn things we wanna know, there's no worry about Ogre anymore, Heihachi is dead, we can legally get wasted, Heihachi is dead - "  
  
"You already said that," Hwoarang said quietly. He watched Jin's face darken, then calm again. He sighed irritably. "I know all about it. I'm too young to die, yadda yadda, I show too much potential, yadda yadda, I'm too cute, yadda yadda-"  
  
"So who has the ego now, huh?" Jin smothered a laugh. The red-haired fighter grinned faintly. He opened his mouth to speak when a sudden, incessant drone filled his head, echoing, and he slumped bonelessly into the floor as darkness overwhelmed him.  
  
Jin slid out of the booth to kneel beside him, checking his pulse, feeling the energy that still radiated from his body (it was much less pure now that Hwoarang wasn't awake to monitor it), and diagnosed that it was only a little worse than a faint, perhaps a mild blackout from shallow breathing. Jin shook his head, looked around as though unwilling that anyone should witness his concern, then quickly picked him up and trotted outside (after paying for the alcohol and a tip, of course). "You better thank me for this later, Hwoarang," he muttered. 


	2. Returning Slowly

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter Two  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & possible explicit sex later.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Author's Note 3: Thanks for responding favorably to my attempt! ^ ^ You've spurred me to keep writing. Maybe my concept for this tale will actually take some form of definition, and I'll have the motivation to get it all down. ^_~  
  
Author's Note 4 (lol): No, Hwoarang is not guilty, just keep reading...  
  
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When his eyes opened, he was staring up into the dull gray darkness of inner-city nightfall. His clothes were wet all over and stank of alcohol, urine, and other unmentionable odors. The light drizzle stung his eyes, making him wince as he tried to sit up. "Slow down there, kid, you took a hard fall." The old familiar voice sounded like gravel, and certainly grated on his hangover-induced migraine. *Master Baek? No. Impossible.* He pressed his palm to his forehead as though the external pressure might relieve some of the internal. Gritting his teeth in pain and shame, he blinked away the rain and peered at the huddled figure squatting in front of him in a tattered uniform. The gray eyes looking calmly back at him seemed alien somehow, although the craggy features and tousled hair were those of his mentor. "There, that's better. I won't have you fainting again; you owe me some answers."  
  
"I thought you were dead," Hwoarang managed to choke out, in a low tone full of shock. He leaned against the alley wall, taking note with discomfort that he had no idea where they were. He prided himself on knowing every nook and cranny of his town, and most of several others as well; but he'd never seen these graffiti-stained walls before.  
  
"Whatever are you talking about? You're closer to being dead than I am," the martial arts instructor growled. "If I didn't know that you're my most promising student I would beat you within a centimeter of your life! Such a stunt as you pulled- are there any other hobbies you have that I am not aware of?" He searched his pupil's eyes, anger feeding on itself when he got no answer.  
  
Hwoarang didn't say anything, not quite sure what was going on. Besides, the sound of cars passing the alley entrance were distracting him. He felt a warm trickle down his elbow and stared down at the thin rivulet of blood. He saw, then, a broken needle laying on the pavement at his feet. Baek followed his eyes and stood abruptly, face a mask of rage. "Master," the Korean began hoarsely, "I don't-"  
  
His mentor cut him off with a sharp jerk of his head. "I took you in, I treated you as my own son! Is this how you repay me? Being a thug and a hustler wasn't enough for you, was it!" Baek stopped yelling for a moment, eyes going cold and blank. "No more. No student of mine would waste their life in such witless indulgences. I do not want to see your face in my studio again!" Hwoarang tried to stand up and follow, tried to explain that he had no idea what was going on, but Baek's long strides were carrying him swiftly away from his pupil, uncaring of the sounds of vomiting and agonized groaning behind him. Hwoarang grasped his inner elbow weakly, dazed. The bricks were swimming and changing shape before him, dancing like leaves in the wind that cut fiercely through the alley. The sound of Baek's angry steps faded, although they continued to echo for a long time in Hwoarang's mind.  
  
Then, inexplicably, Hwoarang's eyes opened again. He dreaded consciousness, but he had to find answers. *I'm no dopehead... I gave that up to take lessons with Master Baek, years and years ago.* He stood slowly, wincing with every motion as he staggered toward the street. He walked on and on, but the traffic didn't get any closer, and he began to tire. *What in the name of all gods is going on...?* He tripped over an irregularity in the pavement, falling to his hands and knees.  
  
"Don't be silly." The whispered words gave him strength to jerk to his feet again and stare wide-eyed at the humanoid form in front of him. The being's aura was so strong and bright and clean that Hwoarang almost wept. "You're dreaming." Suddenly the aura faded, leaving behind a blackened, charred shell that reminded him of Ogre. The stench of sulphur, along with the visual horror in front of him, triggered another wash of nausea. The figure began laughing, a dry, maniacal sound. "Run, boy! The devil's gonna get you!" Hwoarang's bewilderment now was complete. He blocked a swift punch automatically, but there his luck ended. His body was not responding to his demands, and childlike terror swarmed through him like a thousand insects as the demonic thing grabbed his throat with both hands and slammed him against the wall...  
  
"Stop it!" A flash of tan and black rushed past, taking the creature down to the ground in a milisecond. *Jin?* Hwoarang slid to the ground, still unable to move beyond spastic twitching. He watched mutely, feeling strangely as though he were watching a movie through the eyes of a rag doll. Jin gave a good account of himself, but the demonic thing subdued him shortly and had him in the same sort of position that the Korean had been in but a few moments ago. Jin's hands grabbed at the air, his face going red and then pale as the pressure on his windpipe took its toll. *Don't take him from me,* Hwoarang tried to say, the anguished words a silent scream. *Don't take him from me!*  
  
Jin kept silent vigil all night, meditating some, but kept getting distracted. As night faded into morning, he stretched and began preparing for a little shopping venture. He took a moment before he left to feed the fish in his room. He watched them for a while, but his attention was drawn to Hwoarang again. He wondered if he should wake his restless guest up when the redhead started thrashing around and whimpering incoherently in his sleep, but recalling the Korean's stubborn pride and dislike of showing weakness, he decided that he ought to wait for Hwoarang to wake up. *And best not to be present when that happens...* He paused, walking over to the bedside and putting his palm lightly on the damp forehead. The worry-wrinkles faded from the sleeper's face, and his ragged breathing slowed down somewhat. After another long pause, Jin smiled to himself and tiptoed out of the room. 


	3. Sunfall

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter Three  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & possible explicit sex later.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Author's Note 3: I know, it's short... but I wanted to update today, and not wait until I had something more substantial. ^ ^ Forgive me?  
  
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"Do all Koreans pass out after just thirty ounces of Seagill's, or is it just you?" A wry voice roused him from unwelcome dreams. Opening gritty eyes, he instantly regretted the act as direct light assaulted him. Hwoarang groaned, rolling away from the light- right into the floor. For a moment he just lay there in shock, hoping this wasn't another nightmare. *Where the hell am I…?*  
  
"Just me," he replied aloud, cautiously. "You have to remember, I have had little experience with alcohol anyway."  
  
"I didn't know that," Jin replied in a disgustingly cheerful voice, as he sympathetically pulled the heavy black drape over the single window to shut out the evening sunlight and instead flipping a light switch. "I *will* have to remember that little fact. Now- Hwoarang- there are towels in the closet in the hall, and I'm sure you can find the bathroom from there; it's just to the left. You'll also find my wardrobe easily enough, it's straight through the bathroom - just don't pick anything too fancy to wear. Your dirty clothes are locked away for now until the laundry room opens back up in the morning. There are Advils in the medicine cabinet, as well as some paper cups and a few other things. You'll see the kitchen from the end of the hall, there's stuff in the 'fridge if you're interested."  
  
"Where- what- where are you going?" Hwoarang stammered, peering around at the unfamiliar setting, presumably Jin's apartment. *Fancy.* He noticed that he had been sleeping on a bed with satin covers, most of which were still wrapped around him from his fall. The light wasn't nearly as unbearable now, coming from an ice blue lava lamp that took up a whole corner from the floor to the ceiling. An aquarium with extensions of glass tubing running up the wall held some weird sort of exotic, silver-glowing fish. There were paintings all around, in a recognizably modern style, and an incomplete abstract of the fish in their tank set on a canvas. *Ah, yes, those look like they've been done by that new artist named Shinji Hirotoshi - Jin!?*  
  
The man in question stood with his hand on the bedroom's doorknob, smiling slightly. "I'm going to go pick up a few things at the store; rescuing you last night reminded me that my own liquor cabinet is getting empty, and I forgot to get the filler items while I was out and about earlier today. Are you on any sort of a diet?" Hwoarang shook his head dumbly. "Well then. I'm sure you can see to yourself now that you're awake. See you in a couple hours." Jin shut the bedroom door quietly as he left, his feet making almost no sound on the deep carpet. The redhead lay still for several moments just processing the last few minutes' (mostly one-sided) conversation. Its practical nature reassured him that this time, he was well and truly awake.   
  
*He trusts me with his apartment. How'd I get here?* He closed his eyes again, intending on figuring out his old rival's possible motives, and fell back into a light sleep where he lay in the floor. The dream came back in full force, in exactly the same sequence as before, except that he recognized logically that it was just a dream. Disturbed, Hwoarang dragged himself out of its depths with much effort. It was about an hour after Jin had left, judging by how far the thin beam of sunlight defiantly peeking through the window drapes had moved since his eyes shut. There was no other way to measure the time that he had seen. *Why do I keep having that cursed dream?* Hwoarang felt dirty all over, not just on the outside, but internally as well. *I need a shower.* He stood slowly, dizzy and sickened, and made his way toward the bathroom. 


	4. White Shards

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter Four Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college!  
Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang.  
R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & possible explicit sex later.

Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! snorts at the absurdity of the idea That would really ruin my story.

Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! crosses eyes and sticks tongue out

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Author's Note 3: Short chapter. Edited (with thanks to reviewer "amarettoandcoke" for informing me about wine,  
I'm more about the cheap vodka myself P). See footnote.

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Jin grinned to himself as he carefully selected several good cheeses and wine from the shelves of the overstocked liquor store. "You really should be more careful with those bottles, sir," whined the fussy attendant, hovering about like a nervous hen. "Those bottles of strawberry wine are extremely breakable, and the white zinfandel just can't handle being shaken about-"

"Is that so," Jin mused, feeling oddly mischievous. He considered showing off his juggling skills again, but didn't want to risk breaking the bottles. He winked cheerfully at the merchant, who was sweating in expectation of some true alcohol abuse. "You really should have more faith in your loyal customer, Gerry," he chuckled. "How many times do I have to put on a display for you?"

The man shook his head, wiping at his sweat-beaded face with a silk handkerchief. "It's not that I distrust you, it's that I hate to see good wine mistreated," he muttered. "You know that well enough, you just enjoy making me twitch!"

"Of course." The secretive smirk Jin sent his way only confused the youngish clerk further. Too bad, he's sort of cute, even if he is fussy, thought Jin with an inward chuckle. "I'll take all of these, and a bottle of that hand-crafted White Shards stuff, if you have any left."

The man looked around nervously, and leaned toward Jin as though imparting a wonderful secret. "Very well, sir… They're selling for eighty per bottle now, you know. And we only have a wizard's dozen left…" Gerry knew that here was a true connoisseur of wine, but he almost went into cardiac arrest every time the young artist started flailing those bottles around. He barely hesitated to think of his customer as young, though the clerk was only five years older at most.

"I'll take them all," Jin replied blithely. The salesman's eyes bugged promptly.

"But- that's already a total of one thousand and forty dollars, not even including the other things! You're really willing to pay that much for…?" Although this particular customer had a thing for ordering massive quantities of alcohol every now and then, just to keep a fine selection handy, he'd never made such a spectacular purchase before.

Jin nodded with a wide smile. "I hate to deprive your other customers, but I think it's my favorite drink- and I have a guest at my home whom I think will appreciate it as much as I do. I'd nearly run out of things to go with it though. Perhaps," he mumbled, frowning as he strode down the candy aisle, "chocolates…" He picked up an assortment of mint chocolate after a moment. "Now," he said, smiling, "ring me up."

He's crazy, the clerk thought to himself, as his fingers flew across the register's keys. "Your total comes to eleven hundred forty-five dollars even. Would you like to keep our arrangement, and we will deliver your twelve of White Shards at your home?"

Of course, same as always... he must really be out of sorts today. Jin pulled out his checkbook and wrote it left handed, then passed it and his alternative ID in the process although it was hardly necessary. He was a regular customer here. He picked up the paper bags of wine bottles in one hand and flashed a smile. "The usual arrangement on the White Shards will be fine. Just make sure they get there on time and in good condition, but I have plans tonight. Not that I have any doubts! Thanks, Gerry, I'll see you around."

The clerk watched as he walked out of the store, wondering as usual if Jin's parents were rich or something. He barely remembered to call out a "Good day, sir" before the sliding doors closed.

The spike-haired fighter enjoyed his stroll down the street in spite of the weight of his purchase; he had decided not to drive to Grapespot Liquors since it was only three blocks from his apartment complex, and he'd thought he could use the slight workout. He was just glad the sun was already below the artificial horizon the tall city buildings created; he'd forgotten to wear sunglasses. He hummed quietly to himself, listening to the faint clinky sound of the wine bottles rubbing against each other. At the end of the third block, with the apartments looming above him and eight flights of steps yet to traverse, he thanked his martial arts training and active lifestyle for the ease with which breath came to his lungs. He wasn't exactly proud of it, but he was in good shape and enjoyed being reminded of his accomplishment. It only made his spiritual side seem weak in comparison, however, since his meditations had been sporadic and erratic of late...

And whose fault was that?

Footnote: The reference to "delicate" bottles of strawberry wine was originally meant for the glass itself, not the contents... we assume that Gerry knows his customer's quirks well enough to expect a little "alcohol abuse" of that kind.

(You may notice the stated size of the apartment building has doubled: eight flights of steps. It was what I intended originally, but I was counting the stairs wrong.) 


	5. Perhaps A Little Rusty

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter Five  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & possible explicit sex later.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story. Maybe he became a citizen of the country he's going to college in... Yes... I think I like that idea... but I'm still referring to him as Korean, since that is his birth nationality.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Author's Note 3: Time for another secondary character! This one, unlike the clerk in the liquor store, will play a somewhat more interesting role. And NO... before you ask... she is not to be a Mary Sue, or Mary Jane, or whatever that contemptuous name for original female characters is... ^__~ you'll just have to keep reading to figure it out.  
  
Author's Note 4 (lol): I just discovered I have ego problems... I never knew I enjoyed being positively reviewed so much! Keep it coming, and I'll try to do the same... Fair exchange, ya think? ^__~  
  
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Hwoarang stepped out of the shower. He knew instantly that something was different in the house, in a negative way. *Demons of memory,* he tried to convince himself. He toweled off a little quicker than he usually did and slipped into the bathroom wardrobe, which was supposed to have some spare clothes. He located the light switch and stared at the extensive selection, seperated as it was by fabric. *Silk, cotton, polyester, OH GOD, he has HEMP CLOTHING!!* Hwoarang shook his head in amazement. "I didn't know you'd developed such expensive tastes, Kazama, though I might have guessed," he whispered aloud.  
  
After a moment of reverent stillness he abruptly began pulling garments from their hangers and trying them on, careful to hang the rejects back up in their original place free of wrinkles. He settled on a tight-fitting dark gray T-shirt with black Celtic knots on the front and five elemental predators (Tiger, Wolf, Falcon, Shark, and Dragon) beautifully stylized in black and white on the back which particularly caught his eye; he wore it over a black fishnet shirt with long sleeves and a pair of oversized black cargo pants. His hair was brushed neatly and tied loosely at the nape of his neck with a piece of leather thong to keep it away from his face. He saluted his reflection in the full-length mirror on the back wall of the wardrobe, not knowing why he had taken such care, and strode, humming, into the living room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw *her.*  
  
Eyes like liquid sapphire gazed coolly at him from across the room. A delicate, gloved hand brushed back a lock of tomboyish hair, so black it seemed blue in the light, from a pale, chiseled face. It was undeniably a female; her breasts, though not exactly huge, were well proportioned to her almost elfin frame. Her gray trousers, with their red suspenders and a white button-up belly shirt, outlined her feminine frame almost teasingly. She smiled at him. "So," she murmured distinctly (her voice was surprisingly deep and rich). "You are the King of Iron Fist Tournament. I've wondered if you'd kept your young figure and predatory grace; come now, I want to see a few moves."  
  
He tore his eyes from hers and replied somewhat harshly, "I don't do exhibitions. I'm not into that-"  
  
"Surely you could make an exception?" she asked sweetly. Her smile was clearly meant to be charming; it was. She stalked toward him on the balls of her feet which, he noted, were bare.  
  
"Sorry. I don't think Jin would appreciate me kicking his furniture around," Hwoarang growled. *Surely she doesn't think I invaded his house without permission or something? Who is she anyway?*  
  
Somehow he felt her focus sharpen. "Oh… I suppose not. Where is His Lordship anyway?" A light flickered just behind her eyes, veiled in blue.  
  
"I honestly don't know, miss. I've been in the shower- AUGH!" He groaned as he caught a vicious uppercut in the stomach. The girl dimpled at him, cracking her knuckles through her gloves.  
  
"I said, show me some moves, punk," she crooned. She tossed him some fighting gloves which had previously lain on the television, tapping her foot impatiently as he straightened slowly and pulled them on.  
  
*Damn, she packs a punch…* Hwoarang sighed heavily and put his fists up. Instantly the girl was all over him again in a flurry of punches and kicks that almost sent him reeling. He hadn't even thought about doing a kata for almost a month, and he felt sorely out of tune with his body. His blocks came erratically, some too fast, some too slow, but he felt his balance gradually returning. He was forced to cartwheel over the coffee table. Hwoarang ducked a roundhouse and came up with his fist aimed for her solar plexus, lifting her almost a foot off the floor before she dropped over the couch with a groan. She growled but flipped onto her feet again as he sprang over the obstacle. She was met with a rapid succession of slapping moves meant to annoy rather than harm, then was thrown back slightly in preparation for one of the redhead's special moves. He performed the 'Hunting Hawk' swiftly and came down to earth gracefully. It hit perfectly, lightning fast, with such a controlled power behind it that the girl was thrown backward again.  
  
She looked up from the Oriental rug on the floor where she'd landed with a satisfied air, pulling off her fighting gloves and gesturing forfeit before climbing onto the couch. She rubbed her jaw thoughtfully. "Perhaps a little rusty, but you did well enough. It'd be a close match between you and Jin." She smiled good-naturedly up at him.  
  
"I'd know better than to try that now, anyway." *Close match indeed,* Hwoarang thought, remembering his first encounter with Jin and how they had fought to exhaustion, without either of them being able to land a winning blow. "But- forgive me for having to ask- who are you? You aren't dressed like a maid." He crossed his arms and was almost put off when she laughed aloud.  
  
"So you're used to maids that fight you to see if you're still up to reputation? That's just great..." She laughed heartily for a long moment. "My name is Tora- and actually, I play several roles for Jin. I'm his occasional sparring partner, his cook, his masseuse, and his confidante." A tiny grin suggested she wanted him to at least think she was something more. Her voice became soft for a moment, serious, and she stared thoughtfully at her feet. "Jin always used to talk about you, Hwoarang. He used to talk about the demons he fought that night at the warehouse: they almost had control of him, but he refused to let them kill his grandfather's thugs. Then you put them all down... and Jin forced the demons to flee with his body instead of attacking you." She looked up again. "Even though I don't think he understands it yet, and I know for sure you don't, there was meaning to that night. I just hope you guys figure it out before your chance is gone."  
  
"But- what's to figure out?" he asked, confused. His head had begun to ache again, in spite of the Advil's magic.  
  
"That's for you to think about. I will give you a hint though- if everything happens as I foresee, we will soon have one more thing in common." She sat back on the couch, pursing her lips. 


	6. Cleansing

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter 6  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & explicit sex in a later chapter.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Author's Note 3: All right... you guys have been getting spoiled, since this is the first part of the semester for me and I haven't had much homework to speak of... just to warn you all that my frequent updating as I have been can't last forever. Now, for instance, I am going camping for the weekend. So this is the last chapter you are getting for a little while... ^_~  
  
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As the doorknob rattled Tora leaped up again with a happy chirp, dashing to get the door. She was met with an outthrust brown paper sack and a gruff voice, which was smothered for a moment as she hugged Jin roughly. "These should be put on ice immediately. Please attend to them." Jin nodded at Hwoarang, running his eyes over hiss choice of dress almost unconsciously, and refusing offers of help as he packed his own armful of sacks to the kitchen. "What were you two talking about?"  
  
"You," the redhead volunteered. His dark eyes latched onto his former rival's with curious magnetism for several moments before either could look away. Hwoarang's voice became almost subdued as he clarified. "We were talking about *that night*…" Jin nodded as though to himself and took a deep breath. He let it all out in a poof of air as Tora poked him sharply, shaking her head. She mouthed that she was going to see to a bit of gardening (the night-blooming flowers seemed to fare better with special care). Hwoarang stepped to the giant window and stared, entranced, at the city lights shining in the growing darkness. "Jin- just how late did you let me sleep, anyway?"  
  
The man grinned sheepishly. "Until about four in the afternoon, why? Does night fall too quickly for your liking?"  
  
"Not at all. It's just that I couldn't remember seeing the sunset today." Quiet filled the room, almost uncomfortable, until Hwoarang took a seat at the table.   
  
Jin felt compelled to talk. "So Hwoarang. Have you ever been to a mobile dance club?"  
  
"Oh- not recently. I haven't been able to find any, since all my old acquaintances have moved out of town and that was the only way I could get in to one anyhow. Why do you ask?"  
  
Jin went to the refrigerator and opened a can of Mountain Dew before responding. "I want to take you as my guest to tonight's party downtown, the 'Dirty Laundry' gathering. There's going to be some pretty important people there, not to mention a few of the prominent local bands. The whole event is supposed to be pretty incredible." There was a pause as he ran his eyes over the redhead's outfit again before smiling slightly. "You're wearing one of my favorite outfits."  
  
"Uh, well, it was comfortable." If Jin had looked a little closer over the top of his soda can he would've seen an unsteady warmth rising to Hwoarang's cheeks. "And you said…"  
  
"Oh, I'm not upset or anything. Just sort of surprised." Jin emptied the contents of his can and tossed it in the recycling bin. He decided to take a seat as well, with the pretense of sorting through the stack of mail on the table. "Our tastes are apparently more similar than I thought," he mused.  
  
"Uh-huh." Hwoarang looked down at his fingers. He had started thinking about Tora's glib riddling and couldn't get it out of his mind that he had felt sort of incomplete (thus his drinking habits, though he couldn't get himself addicted- he'd certainly tried hard enough) since the last time he'd parted with Jin. *What does that mean? I knew I didn't hate him since our first encounter at the Tournament, but it was easy to forget that in the heat of a good fight… I just couldn't win. Couldn't push myself that extra bit and make myself really hurt him. I didn't hate him but I didn't exactly run up and hug him before our fights.* He tried to ignore the echo of his own voice from his private nightmare, where Jin put himself in seemingly real danger on his behalf. *It can't be simple friendship; or maybe I'm only leading myself to believe it's something more... It was just a dream.* At that moment Hwoarang became aware of a pair of worried, golden-brown eyes close to his. The smell of cinnamon and musk came from somewhere and added to his disorientation. He focused on listening to what Jin was saying but couldn't quite understand his words.  
  
"Hwoarang- come on, don't pass out- if you're that tired you can go back to sleep. We don't have to go to the concert tonight. Hwoarang-" Jin realized that the Korean was getting pale. His skin was clammy. "Are you feeling okay?" He felt stupid for having to ask. His slanted eyes latched onto Hwoarang's.   
  
The look in his host's face roused him; Hwoarang sat up carefully. He felt cold sweat running down his face. An indescribable fear gripped him as hard as he was gripping Jin's forearm, and it was shining out from his haunted eyes. "I'll… I'll be fine. I have these things sometimes, it's nothing-" he began, but Jin didn't look convinced. Hwoarang closed his eyes and shivered. *It was just a dream,* he reminded himself.  
  
"You really ought to see a doctor or something…" The spiky-headed man realized with a pang that he wasn't very good at being authorative. *Perhaps you need practice,* a soft voice echoed in his head. He snarled silently at it. *Go ahead. Ask him if he wants to play doctor.* Impossibly dark eyes opened again and met his, or maybe looked through them into his skull. He couldn't tell the difference. "Would you let me take you-"  
  
"I don't think I'm ready for that," Hwoarang interrupted. His shoulders went a little slack.   
  
Jin took in what he'd said and opened his mouth a little in surprise. He licked his lips nervously. The thought came unbidden that since Hwoarang had taken his words to mean *that*, it just told him that either he had been right about his thoughts about the Korean, or that Hwoarang really was out of it. The spike-haired man was inclined to think that he was just out of it. *Maybe I could get rid of that dirty energy he's got cooped up. It couldn't hurt to try.*Jin bowed his head slightly, pressing a thumb to each of Hwoarang's inner wrists, tracing the veins there. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The process he wanted to use was simple- drawing the negative energy from the redhead's body and attempting to open the channels that would let in more of the clean energy he had to spare- but something stopped him momentarily, a resistant barrier of sorts. He began humming quietly in a monotone, lulling Hwoarang into more complete stillness, and began again.  
  
He visualized his own energy, white light, flowing from his thumb-tips into Hwoarang's 'veins', felt it begin pulsating slowly. With each beat it became a little cloudier until its shade was something close to murky beige. He sent out a fresh wash of purity into Hwoarang and forced the dirty energy out through the redhead's bare toes, then cycled the new energy through the same path. When his patient burst from the trance he'd been using to reinforce the faint- or whatever it had been- Jin exhaled sharply. Hwoarang's eyes were wide, full of terror and pain, but unseeing. "Don't take him from me!" he whispered. "Don't take him away!" The Korean's fingers twitched, then he slumped again. The little whimpers Hwoarang made as the dark energy was forcibly removed from him, bereft sounds like the gasps of a dreaming child, were certainly cause for concern.   
  
"Why have you neglected your well-being?" Jin whispered aloud, troubled. He intended on taking the tired man back to bed for a rest. He stilled his thumbs' almost instinctive caressing when slender fingers grasped his hand weakly. He looked down into half-open, shadowed eyes and felt as though he were falling into a dark well. The corners of Hwoarang's lips, so dangerously close to his, lifted slightly in a smile, and the eyes slipped shut again. Jin shook his head slowly, not quite understanding why his guest was having such an effortless affect on him.  
  
"He's out again?" Tora's voice came from the doorway. She sounded as though she was trying to be neutral but it was impossible, as usual.  
  
Jin nodded pensively. "I tried to do a cleansing, but he woke partially from the trance and told me (or someone) 'don't take him from me'. I can guess some of what he was talking about, but I don't know for sure. I will have to ask him when he becomes coherent again."  
  
"And the party?" she asked softly. She knew that Jin would stay home with his guest if he thought it necessary.  
  
"It will have to wait until I've gotten some answers. I'm… worried." With that revelation, Jin picked the Korean up and carried him back toward the sole bedroom in the apartment. 


	7. Macho Macho Jin

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter 7  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & sexual activities.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story. Maybe he became a citizen of the country he's going to college in... Yes... I think I like that idea... but I'm still referring to him as Korean, since that is his birth nationality.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Author's Note 3: Sorry it took me so long, but as I anticipated, homework is really picking up... *scowls* my anthropology class already has a pending assignment due *tomorrow* (was a week and a half when I first started writing this chapter)- four page essay on female circumcision... *shudders expressively* Wish me luck...  
  
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Hwoarang groaned softly as Jin placed his limp form carefully on the bed. Sweat beaded on the pale forehead. "What now?" Tora asked, leaning against the doorjam with her arms crossed.   
  
*I wish she'd go somewhere. I don't know what now!* Frustrated, Jin's lips tightened into a frown. Aloud, he only said rather snappishly: "I am afraid to attempt anything else on him; he resisted initially as it was, I don't want him to percieve my intrusion as a threat." After a long moment of standing pensively at the side of the bed, he looked directly over his shoulder at the girl. "What would you suggest?"  
  
She held both hands out, palm up, to forestall the question, sighing as he asked it anyway. "You know I'm not as proficient as you with energy manipulation," she replied quietly. "If you really want a suggestion, look to yourself. Since as usual you won't tell me that you'd rather be alone with your thoughts- don't make faces at me, you know it's true- I am going to sit outside on the balcony and sing to the datura." Tora's realistic confidence in her abilities did not extend to her voice, which she rarely lifted in song when other humans were around. Jin had heard her before though, accidentally, and he understood why the datura plants *did* respond on some primal level; her voice reminded one of liquid silver and birdsong. He almost asked her to stay and sing for Hwoarang instead, but her comment had reminded him of his manners. He didn't want to upset her, which would be least likely if he had time to 'be alone with his thoughts.'  
  
Seeing vulnerability in the Korean at this point was like viewing a mirror; as reluctant as he was to admit it, Jin empathized with his guest more than he had ever done with any other person he could remember, except perhaps his mother. *What did she mean, look to myself?* He heard a faint whisper of song from outside and realized he was still standing up. With nearly unseeming haste, he got out his artist's stool and sat it close to the bedside, perching almost delicately on it. Hwoarang's breathing had almost totally smoothed out to some semblance of normalcy. The sweat still stood out in tiny droplets, but his skin was vaguely chill to the touch. Jin put his head in his hands, mulling over his knowledge of healing processes and wondering abstractly what sort of affliction his guest was suffering from; it didn't seem like a simple cold. Of course, it could be stress-related, but Jin didn't want to think about that. He really knew little about his guest's life, except what he had gathered about the false identity Hwoarang used. That was all right though; he hadn't had much chance to learn yet. He was simply grateful to the powers that be, that the Korean hadn't decided to leave in the middle of the day while he'd been out shopping.  
  
Jin watched for nearly an hour without noting much improvement. The Korean was obviously asleep, but the sweat continued to seep from his pores. Hwoarang's incoherent muttering kept Jin from falling asleep himself; twice, he had almost been able to understand the words. Fascination with the Korean's face and words faded as weariness began to take its toll, and the other half of the bed started looking more agreeable. After all, the Japanese fighter had been awake for the better part of three days. Now, beyond repressing his impulses, Jin took hold of one chill hand, intertwining fingers gently, halfway dozing. He was unaware when the hand clasped in his began warming.  
  
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Hwoarang came to be fully awake with a stifled gasp, eyes flown wide and the dream still imprinted vividly on his eyes in inverted color. *This has got to end,* he thought, raising a hand to scrub away some of the sleep grit. He felt oddly out of himself, as though he were watching someone else maneuver his body from far away; his right hand seemed leashed to the bed. No, that was the sensation of a hand in his... The realization forced the dream to the back of his mind. He turned his head slowly and blinked at the sight that met his eyes: Jin laying beside him on the bed, fully dressed but looking almost fragile, with long dark lashes curled like butterfly wings against his cheeks, unruly eyebrows resting in perfect immobile arcs.... *Stop that!* Hwoarang cursed himself silently, face going quite red. *You're acting like a fangirl in heat!* He didn't try to extract his hand from his onetime rival's, though. It was peaceful laying there, just looking at the familiar face and thinking about nothing in particular.  
  
The faintly amused voice startled him out of his stupor. "How are you feeling now?" Rich, dark amber eyes opened as Jin turned to regard him, a smile quirking at his lips.  
  
"How long have you been awake!?" Hwoarang demanded, trying to cover his mortification at being caught gaping at his host in such a manner. He didn't get an answer beyond a raised eyebrow, and noted to his dismay that his face was heating up again. "You realize you're holding my hand...?" Silence. Just a smirk in response as he continued to stare into dark eyes- unwilling to keep looking but unable to break away. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing came out. Finally, face feeling hotter than a million suns, he shut his mouth.  
  
Jin let out a small sigh, closing his eyes momentarily and releasing the Korean from their hold. "I never fell asleep; at least, not completely."  
  
Hwoarang swallowed hard, concentrating on remaining motionless. "Why did you go out of your way to take care of me?"  
  
His host laughed aloud. "Why did you go out of your way to assist me at the warehouse?" he countered with a wide smile, carefully not meeting eyes again.  
  
"I don't know," Hwoarang confessed, contemplating the fanciful swirls of plaster on the ceiling. "It always bothered me that we pulled a straight draw; I dreamed about it for weeks afterward."  
  
Jin turned to relax on his side, still keeping hold of Hwoarang's hand. *He isn't offended. He would have punched me or... or something by now.* Somehow the thought brought a mixture of reverence and hope, instead of the anticipated relief. "The draw didn't bother me. I didn't want to fight you, but I had to keep up appearances. Drawing was the only honorable way out I could see... especially when I discovered that you were holding back against me."  
  
The Korean smiled hesitantly at his host, fighting the bewitchment of his gaze. There was something different about it that quickened his blood flowing through his veins. "You know you're still holding...?" he started to ask, heart hammering against his ribcage. Jin squeezed the faintly clammy hand and nodded, seeming not to notice the tension the gesture created.   
  
Words fled from Hwoarang's mind as he rolled toward Jin, lips meeting lightly at first. When he met no resistance- indeed, strong arms wrapped gently around him in encouragement- he tilted his head a little and deepened the kiss, savoring the warm velvet touch. They lay there for a long moment like that, locked in a soft embrace, the need for words diminished; after all, the question they had both wanted to ask so badly had been answered. After a time Hwoarang smiled shakily and drew back with a sigh of contentment. "I guess it's a bit late to go to the party," he murmured, peering at Jin through his eyelashes.  
  
"Not really too late... it was scheduled to last all night." He watched the Korean carefully, adding almost as an afterthought, "I wouldn't mind staying here if you wanted. How are you feeling now?"  
  
*I hope that whatever he feels for me will last as he finds out more about me... I don't know if I could stand losing him again.* He shook his head to dispell such disquieting thoughts and sat up slowly, wincing as his neck popped. Hwoarang's smile lit his face with inner radiance that sparkled in his eyes. It seemed like forever since he had truly been happy.   
  
"I feel... I feel as though I could win the Tournament four times over. In fact... I would go so far as to say a little air might be good for me."  
  
*We both know what would be good for him, but I can't rush things. He might get the wrong idea.* Jin sat up too, his cheeks an adorable shade of rose as the only visible sign his thoughts were less than pure. He cleared his throat, aware that his mouth was dry, and returned the smile sheepishly. "Sounds good to me, but I'll need to put on something else." He indicated the almost formal attire he wore with a laugh. "This is wrinkled all to hell from laying down in it. Want to help me pick something out to wear?"  
  
"Of course, I want to see your fashion sense at work," Hwoarang nodded, teasing. He got to his feet and stretched, marvelling at the relaxation he still felt. He knew on some level that his light mood was partially due to the new energy he had discovered on waking, and rightly attributed it to his host. "Not that I have any true doubts, with that sort of selection." They went to the wardrobe and began discussing the merits of the different fabrics, whether certain tints would clash with Jin's natural coloring, and what would be appropriate for the outing. At last they just started pulling out pieces of clothing at random to see what they were. *This is better than a store-wide clearance at Hot Topics,* Hwoarang thought to himself. "You still have those black pants with the flames running up the legs, don't you? I think those would go well with *this,* and that black vest you had out earlier."   
  
"Well... of course I still have them. They're sort of like a keepsake from the Tournament; I only wear them on special occasions, but I haven't recently. I'll put them on and see if they still fit," Jin shrugged. He stripped with casual efficiency, barely giving Hwoarang time to realize he was wearing a pair of sexy obsidian-hued boxers before he'd pulled the black pants on. They fit a little more snugly above the knees than he thought they should, but Hwoarang's unvoiced opinion was that it looked lovely on him. Jin added the crimson tank top passed to him and the vest to his ensemble, and struck a pose.  
  
The Korean's eyes went comically wide at the way the 'macho man' pose made the pants ride up obscenely, but nodded his approval. "It's missing something though; it needs a touch of chain or rough material somewhere," he managed to say.   
  
The Japanese fighter stifled a laugh, paced sinuously to the back of the wardrobe, and gestured toward a small shelf. "Are you going to come help?" It really was funny the way Hwoarang scrambled to his side, but Jin had no trouble this time suppressing his amusement as they were interrupted.  
  
"I thought I might find you here-" Tora's head addressed them from the doorway, then she paused to examine Jin's outfit critically. "Good," she said finally, "but I suggest a hemp choker and those leather platforms you never wear. I'm going to have a glass of water before I head out for the night." The head disappeared around the corner.  
  
"She's right you know," Hwoarang sighed, sifting through the assorted necklaces with a slight frown. Jin pretended to be upset as he sat down in the floor to pull on the soft boots on and lace them up tightly.  
  
"The hemp I can agree to, but why the leather boots? I don't need an extra half inch of heigth, I'm already too tall."  
  
The Korean had to laugh, and his eyes fell on the perfect item as he did. It was a choker woven of thick tan colored hemp cord, embellished with one round jet bead between every knot. "Put this on," he ordered.  
  
"Yes Master," Jin teased, but was secretly glad. Hwoarang seemed to have an eye for picking out his favorite articles of clothing to put together. He briefly considered mentioning it, but he wanted to keep watching to see what Hwoarang would pick for the next day- *Assuming of course that he returns home with me,* Jin thought hopefully. "I think this works just fine. Take another look, is it all right?"  
  
"All right? Better than that," Hwoarang snorted with a wicked glint in his eye. "You look positively edible."  
  
"I'll remember you said that," Jin purred, smirked at his guest's expression, and glided out of the wardrobe.  
  
Fifteen minutes and a shared glass of chocolate milk later, two shadowy figures left the apartment complex heading for downtown on foot, talking animatedly in low voices about art and war... 


	8. Which Is The Real Jin

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter 8  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & sexual activities.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story. Maybe he became a citizen of the country he's going to college in... Yes... I think I like that idea... but I'm still referring to him as Korean, since that is his birth nationality.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Author's Note 3: I hate tests. I hate computer viruses. But most of all, I hate writer's block... For those of you who expected something a little more... interesting... for this chapter, my apologies- but I lost the old chapter I had almost completed to a virus. This one isn't nearly as long (old one was almost seven pages!!! GRRRR), nor as detailed, I will probably upload a different version of it at some point. But for now... just bear with me and, if you have any 'picks to bone' with me, drop me an email or R&R. ^ . ^  
  
Author's Note 4: I usually respond to reviews in the same place, but I believe last time I forgot to thank you guys for all the positive energy. It is what made me start writing the 8th chapter again...  
  
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"But war can have its uses," Hwoarang said thoughtfully as he stepped off a curb into the crosswalk. "It keeps the ignorant violent people busy, so the rest of us can live in relative peace."  
  
Jin shook his head as they strolled along, unable to agree with the redhead's reasoning. "We don't need war, no matter how useful it seems to be in the current world. Those who are, as you put it, 'ignorant violent people' should be educated such that their ignorance goes *poof* and their energy becomes focused on other things. Isn't that why you came to America to study?" he asked, perhaps a little sharply.  
  
Hwoarang ducked his head, trying to hide the immediate anger he couldn't quite subdue. "I don't know why," he said softly. "I was never senseless, not really. I mean... my senses were screwed up most of the time in my youth, and sure I was a bit more aggressive than I had reason to be, but-"  
  
"You had that well in control by the time I saw you first, or you would have been more likely to kick my butt," Jin teased. He was relieved to see a faint smirk on his former rival's face. "But then, you accepted an invitation to better yourself when your mentor took you in. I honestly don't know how many people would do the same, when it means learning not only a method of self-defense, but also self-discipline and self-respect."  
  
"All of which I am still working on," Hwoarang pointed out, grin widening.  
  
"As am I," Jin shrugged good-naturedly. "Anyone who tells you they have mastered those concepts beyond intellectually, is full of bullshi-" He stopped walking abruptly, keen ears having heard the sound of running feet coming their direction. He motioned for Hwoarang to move away from the circle of light created by the nearest streetlamp.   
  
"What-" the Korean started to whisper as he pressed his back against the brick wall of a pet shop, low whimperings and such occasionally heard from within.  
  
"Shhh," Jin breathed. His dark amber eyes gleamed reflection of the light as he turned his head this way and that. He pointed silently and nodded once. "Watch my back," he mouthed.  
  
Hwoarang nodded, swallowing nerves as tension began trickling through him. The small dark figure didn't become any clearer as it came closer, since it dodged nimbly around the light cast by lamps, but it became more audible. Whoever- whatever- it was, it was breathing heavily. It stumbled as it started to pass them, and Jin leaped forward to grab it roughly by the back of its black garments. It let out a low moan as he pulled it into the light. "It wasn't me!" it said- the voice was unmistakeably male, although high pitched with fright. He didn't even try to struggle.  
  
Hwoarang stayed put, wondering what the hell his host was doing. Whoever this was, if he was running so intently that he didn't notice two possible thugs on the sidewalk, he shouldn't be bothered. It was dangerous to be moving around at night in the middle of the city, especially alone.  
  
Jin put his arm around the diminuitive man's neck and pulled up the left sleeve of his hoodie. There on the upper arm, as expected, was a weird tattoo, much resembling a shuriken. *Gang member now,* Jin thought with an internal sigh. "Dath," he cursed aloud. The guy jerked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Why ya runnin'?" he asked, and Hwoarang gaped. *Where'd the accent come from?*  
  
"I don't fight, and I didn't want to die. Please let me go! I didn't do it!"  
  
"Do what?" Jin growled, tightening his hold slightly. His eyebrows drew together. "Tell me wha'cha know, Math, or I swear I'll tell yer mum."  
  
"Dirty Laundry," the man gasped. "Narked and planted-"  
  
Jin was silent for a long moment, memorizing the tatoo before thrusting the man away with a harsh laugh. "If ya wanna run, den go. I b'lieve ya for what 's worth."  
  
"Not much," the gang member paused to say, "unless you can do something about it!" Without saying anything further he whirled and dashed off in much the same fashion in which he had approached them.  
  
Jin turned toward Hwoarang before he could ask. "Because street rats know almost everything, and because I know that one. You in shape?" Without waiting for a response he took off as well, in the direction the near-midget had come from. The Korean followed with some misgivings, swearing to himself he'd get the story out of Jin one way or another. The spike-haired man had a little trouble with his boots, but other than that knew himself to be in top form. His breath came easily enough for him to speak in a near-conversational tone, if a bit jerky. "I will explain later, please just trust me for now. I might need your help. A lot of my public persona's allies are at that concert." He was quiet for a moment as they veered a sharp right into a small alleyway lined with doors, some barred by boards or padlocked. "The door at the very end, down in the basement... that's where we're headed. You okay?" he asked as he slowed down to a more reasonable walk.  
  
"Fine," Hwoarang lied, his lungs burning with the effort of speaking normally. *No, oh shit, that's a-* He bent over double quite suddenly and started hacking.  
  
"Hwoarang??" Concerned, the Japanese fighter turned to see what was wrong.  
  
With one final explosive cough, a small insect hurtled out of Hwoarang's mouth and bounced off the pavement. "Much better now," the redhead said hoarsely, then scowled. "Why are you laughing?" he demanded.  
  
Jin wheezed. "N-nothing." He composed himself hurriedly, straightening his clothes, and glanced at the open end of the alley. "I'm just hoping we weren't followed." He led the way to the end of the alley, where a narrow set of stairs dropped down below street level into darkness. "One thing," he said apologetically, "the stairs are rigged to lock the door and bar it from the inside if anyone steps on them."  
  
"So we'll have to jump down?" Hwoarang guessed, nostrils still flaring with the force of his breathing.  
  
"Not quite that bad... or worse, maybe. We'll have to walk down on the guardrail. There's only one."  
  
The Korean squared his shoulders and nodded, trying to act convincingly. "No problem. You can go first though."  
  
"So I intended." Jin let loose a small breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He grabbed the guard rail at its even point with both hands and pulled himself up onto it, gave himself a moment to balance, and stood up completely. His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness, and he hoped Hwoarang's would do the same once he started *his* descent. For Jin, who had plenty of practice on similar rails all over the city, it was quite easy to scramble down at a half-run, feet landing precisely with each step (in spite of the ungainly footgear) until the end- at which point the rail had no level place. He hopped off, landed with a light thud, and called softly up to what he was now thinking of as his "backup": "I'm down."  
  
*Why do I let myself get into these situations...* Hwoarang exhaled and clambered up on the rail as Jin had done. He put his right hand in front of himself, fingertips just brushing the wall, and held the other out behind him in the same fashion, his torso twisted to stay as close as possible. The first step was the worst- he could just barely see the slope of the rail, and a vague outline at the bottom of it that had to be Jin. His foot slipped once (toward the wall luckily, although he corrected it in time to recapture his balance), but after that it wasn't bad. Then as he came to what he thought was the end of the rail, he put his foot out expecting to find something solid. There was only air. His leg made some flopping motions as he tried to lean back onto his left foot, but it was too late. "Waaak!" he half-yelled as he fell forward.  
  
Instead of hard concrete and bruises, he was caught by a rather smug Japanese. "First time I came down one of these, I didn't have anyone to catch me," he confided, holding on to Hwoarang for longer than could be considered necessary before putting him down. *He seems to weigh next to nothing. Not like before, during our matches.* There was no time to ponder, though.   
  
"Thanks," the redhead mumbled.   
  
He seemed embarassed, but Jin didn't mind. He smiled in the darkness and went to open the door. "I don't know what to expect- Math said it was 'narked and planted' but that doesn't mean anything worse has happened. If we can warn them to evacuate-" He shook his head and turned the knob. "I'd hate to have the only real mode of- err, public entertainment left in this damned city come to an end." They walked into a hallway lit by a row of candles on the floor, Hwoarang following closely; he figured that this was Jin's territory, and it felt safer being behind his casual confidence. He didn't want to think about that too much.  
  
The hallway opened into a mostly dark, humming atmosphere full of incense smoke, ghostly forms moving through it, and blacklit colors everywhere. The upraised platform in the middle of the room had some band equipment on it, but there was no sound coming over the speakers and nobody near the instruments. Jin peered around, scanning for familiar faces, and let out a small laugh. "Who would have ever imagined," he whispered just loud enough for Hwoarang to hear, "I see my favorite liquor store clerk is here. And there's Jask Manin, he owns Cafe Sans Coeur Nuit, just in case you didn't know. And Will O'Muir, best light show coordinator I've ever seen-"  
  
"What are we going to do then?" the Korean asked, a little nervously. "Looks like the band is taking a break."  
  
"Let's go to the bar and find out. The vocalist for the band also happens to be the guy who set all this stuff up tonight, he's funding everything except the food and drinks, so if anything is wrong he'll know." Jin set off through the smoke, leaving his guest no choice but to follow. They recieved a couple catcalls on the way across the room, but except for making the Japanese fighter smirk in satisfaction and Hwoarang's face go hot at the attention, there were no ill effects. This side of the room was set up in an interesting way: bar and stools went along most of the wall on one side, the other two walls were set up with carnival mirrors and faceted mirrors. The corners of the room on this side were strung with shiny things and glowing shapes and beads, and of course speakers strategically located absolutely everywhere. Jin didn't stop though, just walked straight up to the bar and leaned across the counter for attention.  
  
The server grinned toothily, showing off brilliant neon yellow braces, and set the mug he'd been polishing down on the back counter. "What can I get ya?"  
  
"Get me Garrett. Tell him that Hirotoshi Shinji has a pick to bone with him, and a guest to meet him." The spike-haired man switched his accent to something more Japanese-sounding, even going so far as to scramble his grammar a bit. As the tender moved off to pass along the message, Jin turned to Hwoarang. "You know my public name now, if I failed to tell you before."  
  
"I figured it out before," the Korean replied tersely. "The paintings were a dead giveaway." Jin tilted his head a little, kept his gaze for a long moment, and smiled enigmatically.   
  
Hwoarang was at a loss. He knew that his host did this sort of thing fairly regularly- going to these 'mobile dance clubs' as he had called them- but what was *he* supposed to think? Which was the real Jin anyway- the one that wore a different persona for every occasion, the one that grabbed people out on the street for information he suspected they held... or the one that captivated effortlessly with a single glance and a gentle smile? 


	9. Dirty Laundry and Dirty Dancing

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter 8.2 (for simplicity's sake, and because Fanfiction.net won't let me label it chapter 8.2, we'll just call it 9. *looks grumpy*)  
  
Based on T3, Hwoarang's ending: He's tired of fighting. He's tired of being alone. He's even tired of college! Jin picks up Hwoarang's tab in a bar, with some interesting results. Yaoi: m/m relationship (Jin X Hwoarang). R for language misuse, implied illegal action, & sexual activities.  
  
Author's Note: I've never played any other Tekken game but T3, so I'm going to pretend that none of the others exist anymore. And Hwoarang did not join any stupid army! *snorts at the absurdity of the idea* That would really ruin my story. Maybe he became a citizen of the country he's going to college in... Yes... I think I like that idea... but I'm still referring to him as Korean, since that is his birth nationality.  
  
Author's Note 2: I don't own Tekken or its characters, so don't sue me, but I can damn well ignore the parts of both that I don't like since I'm not even writing this for profit! *crosses eyes and sticks tongue out*  
  
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Author's Note 3: I didn't want to wait any longer to post this, even though the former chapter 8 has not been reconstructed to my satisfaction. I hate pop quizzes, essays, finals, and blah blah blah... -.-" won't bore you all with my angsty issues... lol. Simply suffice it to be known that I have little time at the moment and have been dividing what I *have* had with this chapter, and a plot bunny that's been hopping around in my mind for gods know how long... Just for reference, are there any fans of a Drizzt Do'Urden / Legolas Greenleaf pairing out there?  
  
Author's Note 4: The song in here is copyrighted to Sheryl Benita Moore, used with her permission.  
  
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Before Hwoarang could come to any decision about which Jin was which, a tall, skinny black man in a green cardigan, combat boots and a kilt strode up to them from behind the counter. "Shinji," he greeted with a flash of white teeth, then held up a forefinger. "Shhh... come into the back rooms and we'll talk." He glanced uneasily at Hwoarang, thick eyebrows narrowing as though to say 'who the hell is he?'  
  
Hwoarang opened his mouth to speak, but Jin elbowed him lightly and beamed a smile at the man. "Garrett Madiero," he said quietly, "this is my guest for the evening and as long as he cares to stay at my residence. Meet Kotun Mikoshi, fellow student." Garrett stuck his hand out gruffly for a quick handshake, but didn't speak. He jerked his head toward a door guarded by two burly Americans, each wearing black suits with a billy club hanging from the belt, and started for it. They nodded almost imperceptibly as Garrett passed.  
  
Jin made to follow, but Hwoarang placed a hand lightly on his arm. "He doesn't seem to like me very well," he whispered, eyes nervous.  
  
"He may seem to blow you off at first, that's just the way he is. He'll get over it soon enough," the Japanese responded with a reassuring wink.  
  
Hwoarang let it go with an inward sigh. *I hope he's right,* he thought to himself. He fell into step behind Jin, suppressing the urge to cling to the back of his vest. One of the guards opened the door with an intimidating scowl, but the Japanese only bowed respectfully as he entered the hallway. The only light source was an open door on the right side of the hall; that is where they headed. The brightness of the light was startling after the dim hallway and darker club, as though they had returned to reality after a trip through a fantasy realm. Garrett was seated already on one of the four white satin couches in the room. There was one against each wall, and an oaken round table with a slowly spinning crystalline Buddha fountain on it. Picturesque, if not for the fake moustache that had been put on the poised statue. "Have a seat," the vocalist offered. "A drink for either of you?"  
  
"Business first, pleasure later," Jin replied firmly with accent intact. He sat down, glancing at the Korean to see that he did the same, and leaned forward immediately to peer across the table at Garrett. "There is rumor on the street that things grow in this club," he added with no preamble. "How bad is the infestation?"  
  
Garret ran a hand across his shaven head, black eyes uncertain and posture questioning. "I haven't heard anything about that," he said slowly. "Nor have I seen anyth-"  
  
"Matt told me," Jin interrupted, and from the slight widening and then narrowing of his eyes, the vocalist was not pleased to hear this.  
  
"There has been no sign of any trouble yet, except when I go offstage for a drink." The cardican seemed to swell as he shrugged. "I'm glad you decided to show up today, Shinji. I'll make sure to mention this to the techs."  
  
Jin shrugged back, feeling queasy. Tingles ran up his spine and up his neck and up across his skull, chill where the enchanted Devil-marks lay dormant beneath his skin. "The warning may be too late."  
  
The Korean crossed his arms, frowning. "Not if we can help it. The carrion feeders have no excuse to be interested... do they?"  
  
Jin turned his head to regard his guest with a fake look of agreement, but his eyes told a different story. Hwoarang's ears burned for a moment, but he held Jin's gaze without glancing away. "Of course," was all Jin said.  
  
"The warning hasn't come too late. The techs will take care of everything, don't you worry. I'm glad you showed up," Garrett repeated with the hint of a genuine smile. "I know this has been brief, but if you wish to speak with me again later and if the weeds do not become malignant-" he laughed. "I will be more than pleased to accept your company. Until then, and if not, good evening. I go to collect the band members."  
  
Jin and Hwoarang watched in silence as he exited the room, both noting with ample amusement that the backside of his kilt was nonexistent. Oh well. These days, it was possible to get away with such. The door closed softly and Jin stared at the spinning Buddha, visibly angry. The redhead wondered with a sinking heart if he had done something wrong. "Shinji," he started timidly, stopping as Jin met his eyes. The burn in those tawny orbs mellowed slowly, a faint smile crinkling them at the edges. "You looked... upset."  
  
"I was," the Japanese said simply, putting his arms around Hwoarang's waist and drawing him close. "Garrett turns a blind eye on that which he does not want to see. Like you, for instance."  
  
"What do you mean?" Hwoarang's voice was muffled slightly as he rested his head against Jin's shoulder, returning the embrace.  
  
"He seems to have always harbored some interest in seducing me, though he hasn't been trying hard lately. A good thing, too; I'd hate to have to get violent." A few chords, laden with heavy bass, were audible as the band began tuning up. Hwoarang straightened up at the thought, smiling into Jin's eyes. "But for now... just so you are warned, do not be alarmed if the walls and the floor begin to shake. I can't say why, not now, but remember that." Light brown eyes twinkled down into dark while guitar riffs and cheers marked the beginning of a song. They hardly heard it though.  
  
"All right," the Korean whispered, eyes shutting of their own accord as Jin placed a warm kiss on his lips. It was short but tender, leaving a smile on both their faces.  
  
*Don't rush it,* the Japanese reminded himself. While he wanted to engage in more serious things with his guest, this was neither the time or the place. Jin kissed the tip of his nose impishly and stood up, dragging Hwoarang with him. "Come on! I want to dance with you." The redhead laughed and followed, holding unabashedly to one of Jin's hands.  
  
They emerged from the door at the end of the hallway into the hazy club, fading immediately into the crowd and making their way toward the area reserved for dancing. The costumes were something spectacular, though obviously not required. Unsurprisingly, with the wantonness of youth, several couples were dancing intimately, while others equipped with glowsticks on strings or across fingers kept to something more tame, but just as uninhibited. Then, there were pairs *ballroom dancing* - it should have seemed out of place, but it didn't. Hwoarang looked on the gathering in a new light and realized just how unique this sort of thing was: there were many diverse races here, all with different styles and most likely different views, but that didn't stop them from congregating and simply having fun. They weren't all young, either. *That's what it is,* he realized, startled. *This is a place for everyone. Not just one or two minority groups...*  
  
Jin spun around, grinning through the smoke. "What do you think?"  
  
His guest only shook his head with mock disappointment. "I don't know how to dance!" he admitted, with a smirk of his own. "You'll have to teach me a few moves." Before a response could be made, a woman with bunny ears flopping atop her head passed close to them with a tray of shot glasses.  
  
Hwoarang paused to look askance at the spike-haired fighter, but Jin had already taken one and shrugged comfortably. "It's herbal tea," he confirmed after taking a sip. "Safe enough." The woman pretty much ignored them until they replaced their empty glasses on the tray, two wrinkled dollar bills finding their way there as well. Then she dimpled at them and moved on. Up on the stage in the middle of the room, rainbow lights flashed across the main microphone, highlighting Garrett's outlandish outfit as he began to sing to the half-jazz, half-punk instrumentals.  
  
~I saw you there but you never saw me  
  
~Felt your pain but you didn't care  
  
~Because I touched you only with my eyes  
  
~I heard you just because you cried  
  
~Still never heard nothin' so - beautiful  
  
Around them, whistles and scattered cheering erupted again and more people started to dance. Jin leaned close to his guest, so he could whisper in his ear. His lips were close enough to brush against Hwoarang's earlobe. "If I am going to teach you some moves, then I get to choose which ones." A blush spread across the Korean's face, but he nodded acceptance and was turned around in short order, heart speeding up drastically as his host's arms entertwined around his chest, the pad of Jin's right thumb brushing across his lips in a symbolic kiss as warm breath tickled his ear. The arms slid slowly down until they encircled Hwoarang's waist, pulling him back gently to meet the support of Jin's hips. The Korean swallowed hard, nervous and sure that everyone was staring at them.  
  
~I knew you but you've never met me  
  
~I was obsessed to your oblivion  
  
~And you refused to say hello  
  
~Never hesitated to shout - goodbye  
  
The rising smoke began to take a more solid hue. It was only an effect of the lighting, but it served as an optical barrier to all but the upraised stage. The glowlights sent swirls and ripples through the smoke, momentarily revealing the dancers behind them. "Bend your knees a little," Jin instructed softly, "and follow my movements." He started guiding the Korean's hips around in languid circles, his own eyes shut to savor the nearly full-body touch. Hwoarang was lost somewhere between embarassment and arousal, head flung back ever so slightly. *So this is why so many couples dance this way,* he thought dazedly. His arms found their way across Jin's, fingers clasping his- perhaps clinging just a little.  
  
~I'm just a shadow to you, now  
  
~Look right through me with those eyes  
  
~See right through me with empy smiles  
  
~Look deeper still and see these - dreams  
  
A grating rumble, followed by a gradually increasing quaking of walls and floor, made a few of the dancers stumble, but it wasn't so terrific that it sent anyone to the floor. "And now we're dropping down a level," Jin whispered into the redhead's ear. "That's one of the reasons that these places are called mobile dance clubs." There was an odd feeling, like being in an elevator headed down, for a moment, then a *click* that was felt more than heard and the room stopped moving. The Korean didn't care whether it moved or not- he was moving, and so was Jin. He had long since relaxed into Jin's embrace, except for resisting the rhythmic motion and pressing back to meet it. His reward was a soft nip at the earlobe. *Oh god...*  
  
~Blackened silk slips through my fingers  
  
~I reached for you but lost my intent  
  
~You're untouchable, your heart beats alone  
  
~Reached for love and still I - burn  
  
Try as he might, the Japanese couldn't resist the curve of Hwoarang's neck, so he growled softly and kissed it. A sharply-drawn breath and a low whimper encouraged him. Jin realized then that perhaps his guest was as turned on as he. "Are you all right?" he breathed. For an answer the redhead tilted his face toward him, those dark eyes almost drunken with wanting. Hwoarang kissed him boldly, running his tongue sensuously across Jin's bottom lip, eliciting an open invitation. Jin all but slurped the Korean's tongue into his mouth and slid his own along its length, and discovered with amazement that his guest was *shaking* as their hands held tight together. They stopped dancing then, Hwoarang turning in his embrace and holding on to him as the kiss intensified. Somehow Jin's hands found their way to his ass.  
  
~I always had the best of intentions  
  
~What you had was superstition  
  
~I fled your piercing gaze today  
  
~Won't give up my hopes of - forever  
  
Hwoarang drew back and broke the kiss as the instrumentals again took over the song. "I was all right," he chuckled breathlessly, "until you started humping me!"  
  
The corner of the Japanese man's mouth twitched. He was trying hard not to grin, but failing miserably. "Well... it is the dance I chose to teach you," he responded with a playful squeeze. The redhead's cheeks colored.  
  
He leaned close to whisper softly in Jin's ear. "I'd rather take this particular dance somewhere private." Before he could say anything else, he was swept up into the spike-haired man's arms.  
  
"That could be arranged," was all Jin said as he strode toward the exit. 


	10. Let Us Learn to Share

Unpredictable Impulses, Chapter 8.3 (for simplicity's sake, and because Fanfiction.net won't let me label it chapter 8.3, we'll just call it 10. *looks grumpy*)  
  
I hope if you've gotten to this chapter, the warning label on all the other ones have ingrained themselves permanently into your brains so I don't have to keep putting them up. ^_______^  
  
Author's Note 1: Sorry it took so long to finish, but this is the first m/m sex scene I've ever gotten out of my perverted little mind and into text, and except for finishing this one story, it may be the last. It's hard to convey everything that I want to convey while wondering if it's going to come across as offensive. *sighs* I shouldn't even care, but I know how the basic storyline goes, so I'm not writing this for myself anymore. It's all for you guys (especially the people that emailed me and posted reviews to help me decide how this chapter should go). That better make you feel pretty damn special, you ingrates... *winks* Waaaah!! Homework!! I hate it!   
  
Author's Note 2: I know you aren't ingrates, but if you're offended by my teasing, you'll probably be offended by this chapter, and should skip over it. In my opinion, you'll be missing a lot; it's up to you though.  
  
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Hwoarang leaned close to whisper softly in Jin's ear. "I'd rather take this particular dance somewhere private." Before he could say anything else, he was swept up into the spike-haired man's arms.  
  
"That could be arranged," was all Jin said as he strode toward the exit, but his mind was full of noise. *What if he wants to go to a hotel? What if he only wants a one-nighter?* Worry, anticipation, and a hint of fear colored his thoughts. He threw Hwoarang over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and charged out the door and straight for a ladder going up the well wall. "This used to be the sewage system," he remarked innocently as he heaved them both upwards. He felt the Korean tense up, and almost laughed out loud. *Does he think I want to stop here?* No... a moment so intimate as what he hoped they might share would be wasted in such a place. Jin would not have either of them waking up sore or regretful. "Just hold onto my neck, we'll be home before you know it."  
  
Hwoarang stayed tense for a long moment, his fingers digging into his host's skin with misinterpreted urgency. Then suddenly he went limp, drawing himself up and placing a hot kiss on an exposed part of Jin's shoulder. The Japanese man almost stumbled as he clambered to his feet on solid ground at last, cursing in surprise. "Don't do that when I'm getting us out of the rain!" he yelled as he accelerated down the street.  
  
"It's not rai-" the redhead started to say, but the sudden downpour swept the words from his mouth. *How stupid is this!* he thought frantically. He tried to get Jin's attention, but they continued to dodge streetlamps and alleyways as Jin ran through gods-only-knew what direction. Hwoarang couldn't tell from his point of view, nor did he care. He nipped at Jin's neck, squirming slightly for more reach. He was heaved up unceremoniously as his ride started carrying them up the stairs leading away from the street level. "Slow down, I can walk the rest of the way!" he said indignantly. "Put me down!"  
  
After trotting up the last few stairs and into the apartment building, Jin took one look at him and chuckled, spinning the live cargo across his shoulder and onto his feet. "Yes sir," he agreed with belated meekness.  
  
*Ahh gods... I know my weakness.* Hwoarang grabbed the Japanese man's shirt in his fists and pulled him roughly against the wall for a passionate kiss. The redhead dragged himself away and took a shaky breath, raising both eyebrows. "I can't restrain myself for much longer," he whispered, stroking Jin's cheek lightly and peering into his gaze.  
  
The golden brown eyes softened as a tanned hand came up to cover Hwoarang's paler one. "I ask you to do so, for both our sakes," Jin answered quietly, meeting his guest's eyes with an expression that said all he was unable to. "Tora will probably be asleep on the sofa." The Korean nodded and took his hand. They tiptoed down the hall toward Jin's apartment door, the Japanese suppressing a laugh as he unlocked it. "We must look like a pair of little boys up to some sort of mischief."  
  
Hwoarang slipped his hands into Jin's back pockets and kissed the back of his neck. "I certainly am," he murmured, letting go reluctantly as the door swung open to reveal Tora stood there with her arms crossed. Her clear blue eyes flashed, her fist came up, and before Jin could dodge, he was thrown backward into Hwoarang by the force of her punch. "Hey!" the redhead yelped, catching Jin by reflex alone.  
  
"What was that for?" Jin asked calmly, dabbing at his eye with the back of one hand. *That's going to bruise...* He looked her up and down and winced. *She's pretty furious about something.*  
  
Tora laughed sharply, her tone deceptively sweet when she spoke. "What was that for? Jin Kazama, you can figure it out yourself! I'm done with you and your *obsessions* for tonight at least!!" She stalked past them without another word.   
  
Hwoarang stared after her in awe. She must have been holding back during their spar. "You all right?" he asked, spinning Jin around gently and examining his face with a soft touch. He wanted to ask further, to see what was going on, but he had a feeling that it was just between the two of them. What he couldn't have guessed was that his host honestly had no idea what the problem was.  
  
"All right? Probably." Jin avoided the Korean's gaze, taking his hand and pulling him inside. He started to say something else but was pushed down forcibly onto the couch.  
  
"Stay there," Hwoarang said firmly. "You're getting an ice pack before anything else." He tried to joke as he went to the kitchen. "I sure hope we didn't wake anyone up."  
  
"It'd be a surprise if we did. Neighbors around here are night owls." A pause. "Hwoarang?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?" Hwoarang came back out of the kitchen with a ziplock baggie full of ice cubes, wrapped in a dishtowel. Jin was looking at the floor, silent for a long moment. The Korean sat down beside him and held the ice pack out, unsure of whether to apply it himself.  
  
"I'm sorry for not explaining everything to you. I hoped that you'd be willing to stay awhile... that I'd have time..." His words tapered off, and, for lack of any inspiration for other acts, he took the ice and pressed it against his face. It was a good excuse to keep his eyes shut. "There's something going on in this town. The police force is intent on stopping parties like I took you to tonight, and it seems that they're employing everyone they can to help them out. I don't understand it, but I've been trying to figure it out for a while. That's why I deal with Garrett... and Math... and a few other people that were smarter than to attend Dirty Laundry tonight."  
  
Hwoarang sat there, wondering what this was leading to. The silence became awkward after about a minute and he guessed that he was supposed to respond. "Oh," was all he could say for a long moment. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. "Are the different personas really necessary?"  
  
Jin removed the ice pack with a nod, as though that was the question he'd known would be asked. "There's only the one that I use for classes, but Shinji is a little eccentric. By all outward appearances, he is just a student with access to the city's underground, but that alone grants him a lot of privileges that Jin Kazama would never be able to attain." He met Hwoarang's eyes finally, his expression unhappy. "Tora was the one who suggested I keep in contact with that world, but that was months ago. I guess now she wishes the same thing that I do, that I could just ignore all of this and go back to being one person, just Jin." He looked down again and put his head in his hands. "But it's not an obsession. I'm not antisocial, but I can't help it that none of the students Shinji knows are trustworthy enough to learn who I really am. Even if they knew they wouldn't understand. My father... the Mishima conglomerate... the Tournament..."  
  
"Shut up." Jin's head whipped around and he stared at his guest, the twinkle of dampness glittering in his tawny eyes. Hwoarang swung his leg over both of Jin's, straddling him and locking him against the couch. He kissed each of those black, unruly eyebrows, whispering in between: "Kotun Mikoshi knows. *I* know... and what I don't, you can tell me about, right? It's not like we don't have time..." He winked at the astonished Japanese. "Classes don't start again for another twenty-one d-" He was silenced midsentence in the most effective way, suddenly realizing the compromising nature of the position he'd put both of them in as Jin kissed him fiercely. Sensations and guilt swirled dizzyingly through him; he realized after a moment that his fingers were tangled in the cloth of that sexy crimson tank top, and tanned hands had captured his face gently. They broke apart far more softly than they had joined. A trembling exhalation found its way from between Jin's lips, sending a noticeable shiver through the Korean's body.  
  
Jin's eyes remained closed for a contemplative moment, then a tiny smirk curved his mouth and he pulled the redhead to him again. "You talk too much sometimes," he whispered against the other's lips, as his hand stroked Hwoarang's cheek. He got an answering smirk and a feather-light smooch for his effort.  
  
"Me, talk too much? Never." The Korean tightened his fingers in the shirt and flipped Jin with surprising ease, pinning him to the couch almost effortlessly. "All right then. If I talk too much, tell me what I said so I know you understand, and I can shut up already," he teased. He could tell from his host's expression - and the way his muscles (among other things) were tightening beneath him - that he wasn't used to being pursued, and certainly hadn't expected that Hwoarang would do so. For a moment, with this interpretation fresh in his thoughts, the redhead felt just a tad sour. *So I don't have a dominant personality trait in my bones - hmmph. He'll learn differently.*  
  
Hwoarang's thoughts were interrupted when Jin's hands slid down from his chest to his thighs and held them down with a continuing smirk, eliciting a sharp intake of air and those dark eyes slipping shut, the Korean's pale neck curved as he leaned his head back. An adorable blush covered his cheeks. "You want to stay here," Jin whispered, his arousal mingled with joy. Of course they'd have time. He was certain that the Korean would feel his erection through the black pants he still wore; Hwoarang's garb wasn't much thicker. Experimentally he rocked his hips upward while pulling the redhead down gently, chuckling breathlessly above his prey's garbled whimper: "Perhaps, you want to stay *here* as well."  
  
"Jin..." Hwoarang swallowed hard and leaned down, kissing those perfect, pliant lips desperately. He was responding to the feel of Jin, his unique scent and his nearness and his languid movements that were driving him mad from the sheer heat they brought. All that warmth culminated between his legs, throbbing and pulsating like a thing alive.  
  
"What do you want, Hwoarang?" the Japanese murmured, stilling his hips and his lips until the frustrated redhead had to answer.  
  
"You know," he almost choked. His lips were swollen with wanting, his gaze smoldering. "You know, dammit."  
  
"You made me elaborate. It's your turn. Tell me what you want, beautiful." Jin simply smiled and waited, holding Hwoarang motionless.  
  
For a long moment, the redhead looked indecisive, and was startled at himself for it. Finally he lowered his eyes to Jin's mouth, and returned the smile slowly. "I want your clothes off," he enunciated carefully, "and I want you laying at my mercy."  
  
Both of Jin's black eyebrows rose, and his smile widened to a grin. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said approvingly. "But I'm afraid you'll have to compromise." Before the Korean could utter protest, he'd been arranged to Jin's liking and hefted up. The Japanese stood, planting a soft kiss behind Hwoarang's ear.  
  
"What do you mean, compr- mmmph..." Apparently, his host understood all too well the best way to quiet him, and was willing to employ it to his advantage. So much for showing dominance! Hwoarang hardly realized he'd been placed on Jin's bed. He thought he'd just imagined the sense of motion. Once Jin broke their kiss reluctantly and stepped back, the Korean had a moment to wonder; what *had* he meant?  
  
Jin smiled enigmatically, the same one he'd flashed back at the Dirty Laundry club. He paused with his hands poised to start shedding garments. "It's a bit cold, you might want to get under the covers for a moment," he suggested softly. "I just remembered something."  
  
Hwoarang started to ask where he was going, but by the time his mouth was open, the Japanese had already left the room. He shut his eyes and started shucking his garments off, folding them haphazardly before dropping them to the floor. *Damn... he was right, it IS cold.* He scurried under the covers, focusing his will on keeping his hand away from his neglected cock. The glow of the fish and the lava lamp seemed to brighten when Jin walked back in holding something behind his back. "Took you long enough," Hwoarang muttered playfully. Then his mouth dropped open as Jin pulled his shirt and vest off with one hand. He remembered the precise strength of Jin's body from their fights, but he'd never seen this much of it before. The luscious tan was even, all the way down to the waistband of his pants, suggesting that it was more due to natural pigment than UV roasting.  
  
Then the pants were unzipped and drawn off, boxers and all, the smooth length of Jin's cock sliding free and clearly visible. Hwoarang tried not to make his stare too obvious, bending his knees with attempted nonchalance to hide the way his erection was tenting the sheets. The Japanese man took hold of the covers and tugged them enthusiastically, pulling them right out of Hwoarang's grasp and exposing him completely. The redhead mastered his embarrassment quickly and rolled his eyes. "Did you have to do that?"  
  
Jin nodded solemnly as he crawled to Hwoarang's side. One of his hands still closed around something, but then he'd slipped it surreptitiously beneath a pillow. "I absolutely had to. You get to see me, so it's only fair that I get my chance too." He leaned down to partake of the Korean's lips, giving them both time to become accustomed to their mutual nakedness. He let his hand rest on the near-white chest, fingers splayed, keeping Hwoarang distracted with the inquiring touch of tongue against tongue while his hand slowly explored. The Korean keened into the kiss as knowing fingers rolled his nipple between them with the perfect touch of measured force. Jin was surprised at the strength of his reaction, and would have mentioned it if he hadn't been busy savoring Hwoarang's taste. He realized as his knee slipped between Hwoarang's legs, almost of its own accord, that his control was swiftly departing. Even though the Korean opened his legs invitingly, Jin felt like he had to make sure. No regrets. "Hwoarang," he whispered, and the serious tone made the redhead open his eyes for a moment. "Tell me if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, all right? I... I don't know how far you want to go with this, so if you want me to stop at some point, you better tell me. Otherwise I don't know if I'll be able to."  
  
Dark eyes widened slightly. He wanted to retort in the same easy, joking manner he had been, but he felt a twinge of uncertainty reflecting from his host's; he made himself push it away. He was glad for Jin's concern. "I want to share pleasure with you, Kazama," Hwoarang said simply, then let a twinkle into his eyes and a smile into his tone. "If I want you to stop, you'll be the second person to know. I, of course, will be the first." And that was the end of the matter, for he leaned to meet Jin's lips with his own. *Strange,* the redhead mused, only partially coherently, *that some guys apparently don't like kissing. I'm glad he isn't one of them - it'd be such a waste of talent.* The sensation of his fingers skimming lightly down Jin's chest and abdomen made the Japanese fighter squirm, but for the moment, Hwoarang avoided contact with his cock. It would only make the pleasure all the sweeter when he relented. Then, suddenly, the lips attached to his separated with a damp sound, and both his hands were captured by the wrist and held above his head.  
  
"Keep them there," Jin ordered briefly. In the haze of lust clouding his thoughts, all instincts to dominate had fled from Hwoarang's mind; he complied automatically, and the Japanese felt a thrill run through his nerve endings. He kissed down the redhead's chest, pausing to abuse his nipples gently before getting to his knees on the bed and positioning himself. With no warning he dipped down and took the head of Hwoarang's hardness into his mouth, sucking while the tip of his tongue traced up the bottom of the shaft.  
  
*So this is the compromise he meant.* The Korean writhed helplessly on the bed, shivering and struggling to keep his hands still. His quiet whimpers quickly swelled to full-on moans. He made the mistake of looking down his prone form just as Jin took him all the way in with a hungry expression, and Hwoarang's eyes shut tight as his head pressed back against the bed. It was like waking to the morning sun, glazed with perfect clouds and snow shining on the ground and the most amazing amber eyes- it was like the sweetest song thrumming through the body, stirring the soul- it was like the clean smell that rises from the leaves just after a warm autumn storm. He didn't know what to call the feeling - pleasure was not a strong enough word - but Hwoarang knew he was slowly becoming an addict. Abruptly his thrusts met chill air, the dampness lingering on his skin not enough to cool his desire. "Please," he whispered incoherently, slipping his arms around the other's warm body as they kissed. The Korean could taste himself, but mingled as it was with Jin, it was not displeasing.  
  
Jin stopped to lick his lips. "Please what?" he asked innocently. "Tell me, Hwoarang."  
  
"You, inside me." The heated flush darkened across the redhead's face. "Need it... want it..."  
  
The Japanese waited for a long moment, tracing Hwoarang's feverish facial features and waiting to see if he'd change his mind. "You aren't the only one," he admitted in a low voice. He winked with a tiny smile as he drew the suspicious-looking bottle from beneath the pillow where he'd stashed it. "Massage gunk," he explained, "it works better around the chest and shoulders than lotion." He sat up and poured some into his palms, warming it between them while Hwoarang watched with half-lidded eyes. Shortly the scent of lavendar, light but definite, rose from the gel, and tawny eyes fluttered briefly as Jin's tanned hands lubricated his own aching shaft. "Close your eyes," Jin instructed, "and try not to tense up."  
  
That was all the warning Hwoarang got as something extremely slippery touched his entrance, slid inside for a moment, out again, then in again. It was a new sensation, being invaded, that he instinctively resisted for a moment before trying actively to loosen his muscles; the faint discomfort faded almost immediately. He'd never given himself this way to another male, though he'd taken his pleasure twice. But there had been little emotion behind those experiences, and only a hollow sort of pleasure that faded fast leaving nothing in its wake; no warmth, not even of friendship. His red hair spilled across the pillow as he pressed his head back again, keeping his eyes shut at his host's request, and his attention focused on that finger. Another joined it, and he started to feel a slow burn of pleasure. He moaned softly, unaware he'd been holding his breath until it all rushed out. Before the sound could come to its natural end Jin's fingers drove in hard, brushing something inside him that made the Korean's moan turn into a breathless wail.  
  
"Well, that was definitely a reaction." Jin couldn't help but prolong the contact, making the beautiful creature beneath him shudder and try to push against his hand to take in more. Iron will weakened, the Japanese shoved his fingers in a little harder, testing. He was satisfied at the response; no pain, apparently, not by the sound of those full-throated cries. The fingers slowly pulled out, a disappointed groan telling him that Hwoarang already missed them. Jin positioned himself, torturing his lover by rubbing the slippery head of his cock in a circular motion before pressing past the tight ring of muscle. Hwoarang's lovely pale face turned from one side to the other, eyes squeezed shut and whimpering at the feeling of being impaled. It took every last ounce of control the Japanese had to keep from slamming in savagely. Then the combination of wordless gasping encouragement and Hwoarang's backward thrusts took their toll, and he accelerated almost painfully. It was too much, too good, too fast - he wrapped a hand firmly around the redhead's shivering length, stroking him slowly in contrast. Jin neither knew nor cared that he was forced to ignore the rest of the world for this moment, to keep his senses from overloading him. He felt like the waves he loved to surf, breaking around a point in picturesque serenity defied by the whooping of a Japanese surf nazi as he slipped all the way through a long barrel unscathed, and Hwoarang was the sun enveloping him in soft warmth that he knew wouldn't burn. He stopped completely right before he would have tumbled headlong into rapture, letting go of Hwoarang so he would have to wait as well.  
  
The redhead tried ineffectually to get him moving again. "You cruel, evil man," he groaned between ragged breaths, digging weakly into the sheets with his fingers. Amber eyes watched him until he met their gaze, then the bronzed fighter drew gasps from him with smooth, deep thrusts, each angled to strike that sweet spot firmly. "Nnnngh.... Jin...!" His answering cry was music to the Korean's ears. Hwoarang's eyebrows drew together in concentration, still meeting Jin's eyes, unable to look away. His mouth opened once more. Nothing came out except a silent exclamation. He came hard, pearly liquid spurting onto his chest as his internal muscles clenched, dragging Jin over the edge of ecstasy with him.  
  
Jin's head bowed, his bangs spilling over his face and hiding his eyes as their breathing returned to some semblance of normalcy. "Thank you, Hwoarang..."  
  
Hwoarang let out a long sigh of contentment. "You know, there's one thing that would make this better," he murmured, and pulled Jin down for a long, sweet kiss. The quiet that followed was not awkward at all, broken only when Jin pulled the covers over them both, then cradled Hwoarang protectively in his arms.  
  
The transition to sleep eased over them as gently as the blankets had, leaving them vulnerable to dreams... 


	11. Darkest Before Dawn

"Darkest Before Dawn"  
  
A/N: I know it's been a long time since I updated last, I hope you haven't forgotten everything. I know I sure haven't! A story like this that I am forced to put on hold tends to stick in my head and worm around until I can get back to it. I'm glad I finally have. grins Didja miss me!?  
  
A/N 2: Hey... need you guys to give me a review or two, to make sure you're still with me and (because I want to know) what you guys would like to see happen. For reference- since I seem to have been unclear on this point in previous chapters- the people at the Dirty Laundry gathering (Garrett in particular) were worried about being busted. The kid Math that Jin caught on the street had heard about some informers that were going to be in the club, hired by "carrion feeders" (aka the cops, The Man, ect). That's why Jin bothered to talk to the vocalist.  
  
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The transition to sleep eased over them as gently as the blankets had, leaving them vulnerable to dreams. The fish watched in wide-eyed, bubbly quiet as the hours passed and the two lovers lay entangled in one anothers' limbs. Jin got up still mostly asleep to use the restroom at some point, did his business squinting against the harsh light. A breathy whimper brought his attention fully to the moment and he padded swiftly back to his room. There, Hwoarang's hand was stretched out as though seeking for the warm body no longer in the bed, and small shivers were coursing through his sleeping frame. "No," he groaned. Jin watched for a long moment in disquiet, unsure of what to do: he could see Hwoarang's eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids. After that moment of indecision passed he knelt by the bed and took his lover's hand in his own and squeezed it briefly.  
  
"Hwoarang," he spoke softly. "Hwoarang, wake up." His only answer was another groan of denial. "Hwoarang!" Jin's voice began to take on a note of urgency, and he put his other hand on the pale shoulder and shook it gently. "You're only dreaming. Come on, pull out of it... Hwoarang-!"  
  
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The scene was unbearably familiar to Hwoarang. How many times have I gone through this? he wondered with the small shred of awareness he clung to. The shape of his former master stalking away from him made him want to cry out, but his dream body was caught up in the pattern. He couldn't make a change no matter how hard he tried. He was forced to watch, helpless, as Jin again tried to pull heroics. And again was held against the wall by his throat. "No," Hwoarang tried to say as tears streamed from his unblinking eyes. "No more. Please, no more. Please!!"  
  
Quite suddenly everything stopped, and he was looking at the scene from a third perspective. Saw his own wasted body, battered and drugged up, resting half-slumped against the wall. Saw the demon's powerful hand frozen in a chokehold around Jin's neck, and that sweet dark face twisted in panicked agony. Then: motion. Strange markings began to show on Jin's face, which began a transformation from lovely to emaciated, red-glowing eyes and fangs the most prominent differences. Ethereal wings spread out from his back, and then.... something... stepped out of Jin's body, taking all the strangeness with it. The demon stood there with chin raised and a small, triumphant grin on its face. "No more? Did you say no more?" Muscular arms folded and the wings spread to their full, awe-inspiring width, then closed like a cloak around the thing's shoulders.  
  
"Please," Hwoarang whispered from outside his own body, collapsing to his knees before the creature. "Don't hurt him... don't take him from me..."  
  
"But it's only a dream," the demon reminded him, one familiar eyebrow quirking skyward. "It's not real. And why should I cease, when I am having such fun?" Sarcasm and venom dripped from its voice in equal quantities, but the expression on its face was unreadable.  
  
"I cannot bear it," the Korean whimpered, shoulders drooping and head bowed so he didn't have to look at the demon so near in features to his loved one. "I can'd stand to see him hurting... not even in my dreams..."  
  
"But did you not wish such pain on him, of old?" the demon inquired. Its wings quivered as though tensing for flight.  
  
"Before I knew how I care for him. Please, please make it stop," Hwoarang begged shamelessly. The demon's crimson eyes narrowed to slits. Hwoarang took a deep, unsteady breath and dashed his tears away with the beginnings of anger.  
  
"You are not able to make me end this. I've precious little else to do with my time." The demon turned around and made as though to leap back into Jin's still body.  
  
"I love him." Hwoarang's words stopped the demon immediately, and it turned back again with a look of... surprise? Jealousy? Perhaps even a little fear.  
  
This time, it took a moment for the demon to come up with a retort. "That changes nothing. You have not seen every side of Jin that there is to see; therefore your love for him is incomplete. Seek this knowledge, human; bring me out of your precious Jin and see how you love him then." It stepped backward into Jin with that enigmatic smile that Jin pulled every now and then, and it tore at Hwoarang's heart to see it. And, he refused to admit to himself, to see it go.  
  
A silent scream of torture ripped from Hwoarang's soul as the dream continued in the exact sequence as before, except that it did not end where it had. Instead he was made to watch as the demon did... unspeakable things... to Jin's body...  
  
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"Hwoarang. Wake up," Jin pleaded for what seemed like the thousandth time. He was quivering himself now with an intensity he couldn't explain to himself, looking down helplessly at the redhead. Then, he realized, Hwoarang's eyes had stopped their frantic motion, instead flew open abruptly, tears squeezing out of their sides. His hand gripped Jin's as though it were a lifeline.  
  
Perhaps it was.  
  
"Shhh, it was only a dream," the Japanese murmured as he pulled the silently weeping redhead into an embrace. Worry and unhappiness settled like a stone in his stomach, even as he whispered into Hwoarang's hair. "Everything will be all right. I'm here..."  
  
"It was awful," Hwoarang whimpered. It was only then that Jin realized how truly shaken the man must be to show such frailty. "The demon..."  
  
Jin's heart almost stopped in his chest. No. He could swear he heard mocking laughter echoing in his mind. No. I subdued the devil gene. I controlled it!  
  
Did you really believe that? You are as much a part of me as I am of you, Jin Kazama. There is no escape, and you cannot control me unless I allow you to do so.  
  
Jin hugged Hwoarang a little harder. "Don't talk about it," he said fiercely. "'The night is always darkest before dawn, but everything looks all the brighter when morning comes.' Maybe we'll speak of this later today... but let's try to get some more sleep. We had a long night of it." Hwoarang hiccupped into his shoulder and nodded, sniffling. Short minutes later, after a glass warm milk (secretly spiked with a touch of Malibu), Jin lay beside his lover and watched, troubled and frightened for his love's sake, as the Korean fell asleep. It took much longer for sleep to reclaim him, but even in sleep he did not let go of Hwoarang's hand. 


	12. Devils of the Mind, Devils of the Flesh

"Devils of the Mind, Devils of the Flesh"  
  
A/N: Hey. Does anyone know why the asteriks are suddenly refusing to show when I upload chapters? I use Notepad to write on, save everything as .txt files, for reference... Until I figure this out, thoughts will be denoted with the thingy.  
  
A/N 2: If you have any questions about things you'd like cleared up in future chapters- or any suggestions, ect, review away and make note of it. I do read the reviews (gives me a nice warm glow from my ears to my toes, hehe) before I update, sometimes by an hour, sometimes by as much of a day. But if I see a question or anything, I'll make a response. Promise.  
  
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Hwoarang's eyes were open several minutes before he realized he was awake. The gray pre-dawn light squeezing in under Jin's door had a ghostly cast to it, almost as though it were an intrusion of his private nightmare into reality. He shook the thought from him, blinking, and remembered in a rush the events of the last night. So much has happened... so much changed... It required too much energy to think about for now... he refused to dispel the sleepy haze and let doubts and worries rush in.  
  
"Hwoarang." Jin's low voice brought his guest's attention back immediately. "Are you awake?"  
  
"Yeah," the redhead muttered. He turned his head away from his lover for a long moment, trying to scrape up some reaction beyond relief, but he couldn't even summon a moment of happiness that his fingers now registered Jin's laced in them.  
  
Jin bit his lip, wondering how to bring up the necessary topic. "We need to talk."  
  
"Can't it wait?" Hwoarang still wasn't looking at him.  
  
The Japanese frowned at the back of his head. "Of course it can." He slipped his hands around his love's waist and pulled him close. "But if you're hoping I can just let this go... well... I can't," he added bluntly. The Korean stiffened in his arms. Well... at least he's looking at me now, Jin thought. Even if those dark eyes were full of such intense emotions that he could barely meet their gaze. "I'm worried about you," he admitted quietly.  
  
"I must have been in a bad way last night-" Hwoarang began, if you're pushing the issue like this, but didn't finish his thought aloud. "You didn't want to talk about it last night," he observed instead, almost accusingly.  
  
Jin nodded once. "That's right. I thought that things would be too fresh in your mind still, and... hey now, don't think you can distract me so easily, dammit!" He took hold of both of Hwoarang's errant hands, blushing furiously. His skin tingled where those naughty fingers had passed.  
  
The Korean's smile faded. "I don't want to think about it, much less talk about it," he mumbled miserably. He pulled his hands free and sat up, scrubbing at the corners of his eyes.  
  
"Last night, you said something about the demon."  
  
Hwoarang's hands froze in place at the carefully offhand remark. Remembered fears and helpless rage and disgust swelled in him and he almost growled out the words: "I don't want to talk about it right now. Maybe not ever." He got out of bed, pulled on his boxers, and padded out of the room, leaving Jin without so much as a backward glance. He still felt numb inside, and dirty; he moved mechanically through his morning bathroom ritual and stumbled into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee brewing. "Filters," he muttered. "Where in the name of the gods..."  
  
"Cabinet above the sink." Jin stood in the hallway, stark naked, half-erect still, with his arms crossed and a strange expression on his face. Maybe I should back off a little. Maybe he doesn't trust me yet. The thought was painful, but it came to him anyway. What else was he to believe, after all? He refused to consider that Hwoarang had shared his body just for the sex. No... it was something else causing this distance. Whatever it was, Jin figured that he'd better respect it... at least for now. He watched his lover carefully, haunted nonetheless as he was by the turmoil in those eyes. The silence was deafening but he couldn't quite decide what else to say, not when this weighed so heavily on his mind.  
  
It was Hwoarang who broke the quiet, leaning against the fridge with both hands wrapped around a steaming mug of fresh java. "What was up with Tora last night?" he asked in an almost conversational tone.  
  
"Beats me," Jin grumbled, uncrossing his arms self-consciously.  
  
"She sure did!" the Korean grinned, standing a little straighter. "Does she beat you often?"  
  
Is he teasing me? Jin didn't know whether to be amused or relieved or what. "Only when she catches me by surprise, or I'm having a bad day," he replied honestly. He felt a smile sneaking onto his own face. "I heard that she almost beat you once already."  
  
Hwoarang almost choked on his coffee. "Not even close. It was a long time since I fought last, even sparring. Hell. I haven't even been practicing. Maybe she was holding her own at first, but there at the end-"  
  
"I believe you, I swear," Jin said with a straight face. Then ruined it by chortling behind a hand. "Well, what do you do then, between drinking cheap vodka at posh nightclubs and taking classes? Where do you live? Do you have a job?" He winced internally. Great, first you're pushy, then you're nosy. Keep at it.  
  
Oddly, the Korean seemed glad to speak of these things, briefly even. In truth he was just glad to not be discussing his nightmares. "If you must know, I have a barebones dorm I share with some crazy pimp wannabe. He's always trying to get me to have a threesome with him and this French girl- ehem. Anyway. What else is there to do but drink and take classes? Play video games, of course, always that. But... no... I don't have a job, unless you consider banging around on a guitar for loose change downtown a job. My financial needs are secure from the winnings at the Tournament- yes, yes, I invested most of it, did the blasted responsible thing and I'm still regretting it- so I don't really need a job." The redhead put his coffee down and tilted his head at Jin from across the room. "I still want a rematch, you know," he said blandly.  
  
"What kind of rematch?" Jin countered, with a suggestive wink.  
  
"Oh nothing," Hwoarang smirked. He realized he shouldn't be so gleeful- after all, his boxers did nothing to hide his arousal either- but it was hard not to be. In between getting out of bed and this very moment, he'd all but forgotten that he'd had the dream at all.  
  
Hwoarang had lots of practice shoving things out of his mind. 


	13. Semi Ominous Tidings

"Semi-Ominous Tidings"  
  
A/N: I want to apologize for the last chapter. I feel that I ended it poorly- it was just such a struggle not to jump into a morning ronk- and the entire thing wasn't written in my normal tones. I spent a little more time laying out what I wanted to happen for this chapter (although since I'm so short on time these days I'm scared to make it much longer- I absolutely hate having to go back and pick up my thoughts where I left them), hopefully I am doing better. I couldn't get asteriks or any other commonly used symbols to work on the last chapter, so I will from now on be refraining from their use. If any of you have any suggestions on how to get something to show up, I'm begging you, please let me know in a review or an email or something... Thanks!  
  
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"You must not want that rematch very badly, then," Jin grumbled, crossing his arms again and pretending to be offended. "You know," he added, "if Tora were to walk in here we'd both be screwed."  
  
"At least I have boxers on," the Korean pointed out cheekily. "Besides, I have little to no modesty where females are concerned."  
  
"I didn't mean that we'd be screwed because we'd been seen." The patience in Jin's voice held a touch of laughter as well. "No... she'd never let us live it down that we, supposed rivals, were not only chatting like this, but were obviously sprung at the same time- and you, my sweet, have a bad case of JBF hair."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Just-been-fucked hair," the Japanese elaborated, and burst out laughing as Hwoarang all but dropped the coffee mug in his haste to run his fingers frantically through his mane and set things aright.  
  
"You could have told me sooner!"  
  
"Not really," Jin chuckled. "Serves you right. You know... you really shouldn't worry about fixing it just yet anyway." He walked as casually as he could manage with his now-painfully stiff member swinging free, and smacked Hwoarang's arse lightly to make him move. Unlike his guest, Jin preferred a bit of cream in his coffee... and he'd wanted an excuse to touch that lovely behind again.  
  
"OW!" Hwoarang complained, rubbing his rear with one hand and trying hard to scowl. His host politely took no notice as he poured himself a cup and stirred in a splash of hazelnut cream. "Why exactly should I not deal with my hair? Are you planning on messing it up again?" He grabbed his cup and drained it abruptly. The thought of getting Jin back in bed was far too tempting to make him want to delay for the sake of savoring coffee!  
  
"Maybe," was all Jin said. He didn't seem in any hurry to down HIS java, however. Not until they heard the rattle of keys at the door. "Uh oh... that's Tora!" The Japanese stuck his partially-drank cup in the sink hurriedly and met Hwoarang's eyes for a split second. "Shower!" they spoke simultaneously and dashed toward the bathroom. Not a moment too soon; they were barely into the hallway before they heard the door open and shut. Jin turned the water on right away as Hwoarang pulled the bathroom door shut behind them and locked it. They shared a brief chuckle at their near escape, the redhead trying not to blush as he removed his boxers, and his lover stepped into the bathtub. Hmm... maybe I should let him adjust the temperature. "How hot do you like your showers?"  
  
"Hotter at the end than the beginning," Hwoarang murmured as he slipped in behind Jin, sliding his arms around the narrow waist and kissing between Jin's shoulderblades. The steamy water felt wonderful after the nippy air as it was; almost as nice, Hwoarang reflected, as a certain pair of hands reaching behind him, grabbing his ass, and pulling him forward to press against his lover. "Careful," he whispered, sliding his own hands down to caress Jin's throbbing length between them. "Can't forget to wash behind our ears, now, can we?"  
  
"I could." Jin tilted his head back until it rested against a pale shoulder, hips thrusting helplessly against those teasing palms.  
  
"Well..." What the redhead wanted to say was muffled as he nipped the base of Jin's neck, so he tried again. "I wouldn't mind another shower later to finish washing-" His eyes shut themselves and a ragged breath tore out of his throat when his neck recieved a soft bite in return. "But it would be difficult to explain to Tora, yes?" He pulled reluctantly away and turned Jin around to face him. Those eyes... so full of warmth. Sparkling a little as they peeked from beneath soggy black bangs.  
  
"Yes... I suppose it would at that." Jin pouted for a moment. "Let's hurry then. I'm sure she just can't wait to try and beat me up again." Why is he looking at me like that? Besides the obvious. He chided himself silently for seeking motives even now, decided to use the lavendar shampoo, started lathering up. Hwoarang's probably forgotten about his dream by now- and it can't have been that bad anyway, if he's still as interested in sex as I am.  
  
The redhead's hands were already busily scrubbing at imagined dirt, leaving trails of soap suds in their wake until his body was all but obscured. "Don't worry, I'll protect you," he replied after a long moment. Surprisingly enough, he only sounded halfway kidding. "Be a good boy and share that water, will you?"  
  
"Of course." Jin reversed their positions- after he'd rinsed his hair, of course- and took up the bar of soap. "You're supposed to at least dunk the soap!" he complained as the slippery thing squirted up out of his hand.  
  
"Oh, you know you like it hard-to-grasp," Hwoarang teased. He bent over seductively to retrieve the lost article and got another healthy smack to his rear for the effort. "Hey!" he squeaked.  
  
"None of that now, I don't want to make you lose your balance or anything, but I might not be able to help myself if you keep on...!" The Japanese growled under his breath, feeling almost fevered with wanting to simply bend Hwoarang back over and take him then and there. "You have no idea how much you turn me on."  
  
"Sure I do." Hwoarang glanced up from massaging lather into his scalp and smiled tenderly. "YOU turn ME on just as much. I've just never fooled around much in the shower, and while I find the idea interesting, I want to have a bit more freedom to move around next time." He squeaked again as soapy arms reached around his waist and hugged him hard. "I just rinsed that off!" he grumbled half-heartedly.  
  
Jin tickled his bellybutton playfully. "I know. But I just can't keep my hands off you."  
  
Tora's voice came through the door, chilly like the rush of cold water that told them they'd lingered too long in the shower. "Jin, there is a letter for you on your bed. I picked it up at the post office this morning. You've also got a couple bills from the electric company. And..." Her voice darkened considerably. "I'll be back this afternoon to finish up my duties. Have fun." The last two words were heavy with sarcasm.  
  
Jin met Hwoarang's eyes. Their faces held similar looks of confusion. "I don't get it," the Japanese muttered. "What's her issue?" He pulled back the shower curtain and retrieved a couple towels, dimly aware of the apartment door slamming.  
  
"Hell." Hwoarang shrugged unknowingly, mumbling thanks for the towel. "You know what you need, Kazama, is a good thick bathrobe."  
  
"That's not what I would have said, but sure."  
  
The redhead peeked up to see if Jin meant to be funny or not, and narrowed his eyes at the unusual expression he caught before it was smoothed away. It looked like weariness smudged with humor and a bit of lust. Good. He must not be too worried about Tora. I wonder if they have these things often? "Well... but a bathrobe is nice when you're too comfortable for clothing but don't want to run around in boxers. I mean, you must admit, it's rather chilly out here."  
  
Jin bit his lip to keep from making a lewd comment about heating things up between them. "Yeah... Hey. I think I'm going to read that letter before anything else this morning. I hope it isn't anything serious."  
  
Hwoarang nodded his assent. "D'you like scrambled eggs? And do you have any cheese?"  
  
"Yes, and yes- of course. But don't worry about cooking unless you just want to." It was hard for the Japanese to not spill his plans for the day so soon, but he managed- barely- by drawing up the memory of Tora's suppressed fury of the night before. He shuddered at the image and hung his towel up to dry.  
  
"It's something to do while you deal with your mail." Hwoarang gave Jin a quick kiss, looking positively cute beneath his dripping, tangled mop of hair. "Just don't take too long."  
  
The Japanese watched as his lover stepped out naked as a jaybird into the hall. "I won't." Smiling to himself, he walked cautiously into his bedroom. He dealt with the bills first; apparently there'd been a mistake last month and he'd been overcharged. Well. At least there's some good news. The letter, however- "Nooo," he groaned. It was no mere letter, it was a request from the university he attended to make an advising appointment.  
  
"What's wrong?" Hwoarang called from the kitchen.  
  
"It seems like they're trying to rush classes into starting again already," Jin replied sourly, crumpling both paper and envelope with a snort. "It's just a notice- they want me to give the counselors more work, apparently." He prayed to whatever gods- or demons- that were listening that he'd have enough time to secure Hwoarang's heart before the fall semester began... 


	14. Secrets and Sanity Questioned

"Secrets and Sanity Questioned"

A/N: Whew... it's really been a long time since I worked on this. It's been an off an on thing, more off than on. Life has taken its toll on my motivation to write, after I lost two novels - one of which I was almost done editing. I'll try to pick up where I left off, and allow me to apologize in advance if my style of writing has changed since the last chapter.

A/N 2: The end of this chapter really surprised me. I don't know where it came from, but I know where it's going. Chill pill, anyone?

A/N 3: I should have gone through this chapter again for inconsistencies before releasing it, but I was so excited to be back on the trail that I wasn't as thorough as I should have been. Since I no longer have handy notes about the details of the story, I have to read back through EVERYTHING and remind myself what's gone on. Sad, ne?

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"I'm going to borrow some different clothes," Hwoarang called from the kitchen. In a moment, the sound of hangers screeching cut through the early morning quiet.

Jin listened to light footsteps retreating through the hall, then the quick thunk-thunk of something being chopped. --I better get dressed too...-- he thought with a sigh. He dressed as simply as he could in a white tank top and dark blue cargo pants, completed with a spike-riddled dog collar. He walked slowly back into the kitchen, worrying about whether his beautiful Korean really had feelings for him, or just his body. He sat down at the table, hardly noticing the enticing smell permeating the room. Hwoarang's voice startled him out of his bemusement. "Plates?" the redhead inquired.

"Above the stove. I don't eat at home often." Jin steepled his fingers and pressed them against his lips for a moment. "Done already? Let me help." He started to get up, but Hwoarang whirled around with a spatula in one hand and a plate in the other, holding both threateningly in front of him.

"Ohhhh no you don't. Just sit right there and allow me to serve." The Korean turned back around quickly to hide his blush, vividly remembering the -other- kind of club he used to attend. He had no scars to show for his service in them, unlike many of the other patrons, and thought he'd long outgrown such embarassment over slips of the tongue. Then again, this was Jin.

"You could at least allow me to get drinks or something," Jin muttered.

Hwoarang peered over his shoulder at his lover, smirking. "No deal. Coffee for you." He turned around the rest of the way and Jin had to quirk a brow; Hwoarang was balancing a plate on each forearm and holding a coffee mug in each hand. "Breakfast is served," he said, setting it all down with a flourish.

"Toast too?" Jin's eyebrows climbed the rest of the way up his forehead in surprise. "No way you had time for all that."

Hwoarang ducked his head, sitting down and poking his pile of eggs with a fork. "I've learned some very handy skills as a student," was all he said.

The Japanese shrugged slightly in acceptance, not about to prod. The eggs were fluffy and had diced green pepper and onion liberally sprinkled on top of the cheese. --I didn't even know I had green pepper.-- He realized that he was wolfing down the food and sat his fork down carefully. "This is very good," he said with a straight face.

Hwoarang shook his head fiercely, staring down into his plate. "Way too aggressively seasoned. Too much pepper."

Jin took a swallow of coffee, mulling over the comment. "You shouldn't criticize your own cooking. Bad karma. Besides, I enjoy my eggs well-peppered. At any rate. I, ahh... I've been meaning to ask you again, I wasn't completely awake at the time. Where did you say you've been staying all this time? It can't have been good if you were so willing to bunk with me for a change."

The Korean stopped eating with his fork halfway to his face. He slowly raised his eyes to Jin's, and deliberately stuck the bite in his mouth. He started chewing, dug another bite of egg out of the pile, and stuck it in there too. Jin was about to apologize for the question, but was interrupted with his mouth open by a knock on the door. "I'll get it," he mumbled with a sigh.

The redhead watched him leave the room, grimacing at his back. --How am I going to admit to him that I HAVEN'T been staying in a dorm, or an apartment, or a frat house? I knew I should have left, love be damned. I'll have to tell him the truth eventually, and then...-- Hwoarang didn't KNOW what then, but he wasn't at all eager to find out. The sound of low voices in the living room started to drone, and he hurried to finish his plate and stick it in the dishwasher. He tiptoed to the corner and peeked around stealthily.

"I know, I still intend on coming back this afternoon. But your... rashness... is worrying me to death." Tora stood in the doorway, gloves on and a fire shining in her sapphire eyes. "I meant what I said," she hissed. Jin had his arms crossed, but raised one hand to rest his forehead on. "You better think long and hard about what you're getting ready to do. Last night was pure foolishness. Yesterday morning was even worse."

"What else can I do, Tora? I'm afraid. I'm fucking afraid of losing my one chance to be somebody. Even if it means being somebody else." Jin's shoulders shook, and even though he didn't know what the issue here was, Hwoarang wanted to go to him. Instead he resettled his weight and remained silent. "I'm tired of hiding."

"What happened to love being enough?" Tora's voice was so quiet it was difficult to hear her; when Jin spoke, Hwoarang could only catch snippets.

"If he... feel the... I don't... what, but I... not knowing. Devil... dreams... aura... needs something resolved."

Heart pounding, Hwoarang pulled back around the corner and leaned back against the wall. He hadn't heard much, but he knew they were somehow talking about him. He didn't like where it seemed to be going much either. He squared his shoulders and strode out into the living room. "Good morning, Tora," he said with a forced smile. Jin stiffened where he stood and slowly turned around.

Tora narrowed her dark blue eyes and peered out at Hwoarang from an otherwise-stoic face. "Good morning," she said flatly. "Did you hear everything, or just what you shouldn't have?"

"Tora!" Jin hissed, expression going from stormy to shocked in an instant.

Hwoarang held up both his hands, palms out. "It's okay, I shouldn't have been listening. I heard enough." Jin flopped back onto his couch with a quiet groan, putting his head back in his hands.

"I want to have a word with you. Let's go talk by the datura. Shall we?" Tora smiled sweetly, but the glare she shot at Jin was pure fury. It said what she did not- 'And you will hear from me again soon.'

Hwoarang followed the petite girl meekly enough out onto the balcony, then up the steps onto the roof. "Wow... I hadn't seen all this in the light of day yet," he said in honest amazement. "It's gorgeous."

"No changing the subject," Tora growled, but her expression softened slightly. "Hwoarang, these dreams you've been having lately- and the incidents where you've passed out- we're afraid that the demon is reaching out to you and will not be dormant much longer. Jin has been in control for a long time now, but the likelihood that the Devil gene will flare up in public - especially at a meeting like Dirty Laundry, with all that music and excitement and flashy lights - is greater now that you're here."

Hwoarang lowered himself to the gravel, frowning. "I don't think I understand."

Tora stepped to the side of the building and rested her arms on the ledge, looking north across the city to a spot of forest on the far horizon. "We went through the same problem when I started working with Jin," she said reassuringly. "To a far lesser degree. I had headaches, nausea, even some vertigo in his company. We believe that the demon is jealous."

"So these symptoms I'm having... they're all because of the demon? And what would you know about the dreams I've been having?" he demanded.

She didn't turn to look at him, but shrugged. "It's one theory. The dreams, I only know as much as Jin has told me. Enough to recognize the intensity and reality from my own experience. Hwoarang... you need to stop being so goddamn defensive. It is unbecoming such a warrior as yourself." Tora hopped up onto the ledge and went up on the balls of her feet, assuming a fighting position. The redhead jumped to his feet.

"Tora... what are you doing!" Unconcernedly, she changed stances rapidly from one foot leading to the other, then jumped in the air and turned to face the other way. Hwoarang advanced, holding his hands out to catch her if she fell. "Come down from there... the wind can be strong this high up!"

She switched stances again, grinning at him. "That's the whole point. How about YOU come up HERE." Hwoarang swallowed hard, stopping half a pace from the ledge and looking queasily at it. Tora's grin widened. "It's a wider ledge than it looks. Don't make me haul you up."

--I must be insane.-- The Korean climbed carefully up onto the ledge, holding an arm out to either side for balance and biting his lip hard. It was a looooong way down, and no matter what Tora said, it couldn't be more than ten inches wide... "I'm up, now what?" he asked sarcastically.

"Now... we fly." Tora backspringed, grabbing his shoulders and sailing over him backward, laughing all the while. Hwoarang panicked and spun, reaching out to grab for her, and halted in amazement. The girl kept backflipping, landing each time as lightly as a cat, all the way to the corner of the ledge. "Learn to trust yourself more than you trust others, Hwoarang, with one exception alone. You can trust Jin with your life. Others, even myself, are accident prone where everyone else is concerned. Did you even notice how easy it was for me to get you up here?"

Hwoarang stood with his mouth hanging open, watching Tora effortlessly put herself into a handstand. --I guess she has a point.-- He gritted his teeth, trying not to look over the wrong edge. "Trust myself... okay." The redhead tensed for a moment, mentally calling himself insane in every language he knew, and started pacing along the top of the ledge.  
"TORA! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH HIM!" Jin's voice was so full of panic, Hwoarang missed a step. His left foot barely hit the ledge and slipped. He spun instinctively as he fell and let out an "OOF" as the ledge met his gut. He started to pull himself back across it, dark eyes wide, when strong hands hauled him over and down. Hwoarang felt himself being wrapped in tense, almost feverishly warm arms, and couldn't find his voice. Jin certainly did. "Tora, what the hell were you thinking?" he yelled.

The young woman was crouched motionless at the corner, watching silently. "Something you should be doing," she said softly. "Trying to restore his self-confidence. If we're right, he is going to need it. Badly"  
Jin's arms tightened around Hwoarang protectively. "I won't let anything happen. I won't!"

"If you lose control, even once, he needs to be prepared," Tora responded reasonably. "Go through the katas. Run. For gods' sakes, retrain balance! You have three weeks until classes begin again, right?"

Hwoarang finally lifted his head from Jin's shoulder and looked from his face to the girl's. "What do I need to be prepared for?" he asked uncertainly.

It was Jin who answered at last. His eyes flashed crimson for a split second, and it seemed as though the tattoo of a shadow framed his face. "Devil's games," the Japanese answered in a strained tone. "He tried to possess Tora once... and he knows though I love her like a sister, you are more precious to me than life..." Jin hesitated as though not wanting to continue.

Tora completed the statement for him. "If he tried to take you over... you'd have to fight him. You were strong enough to defeat Ogre... but that was a physical battle. Your will must be firm..." The girl stepped down from the ledge, striding toward the stairs. She paused to look back at the now-silent men. "Just, both of you... think about what I said. That's all I ask. Jin, be careful- don't give up, you'll find the solution. I'll... be back later."

Jin sighed softly and rested his cheek against Hwoarang's. They stood like that for a long moment. "Remember the question you asked me about where I'd been staying?" Hwoarang whispered. "I haven't been staying anywhere. I sort of don't have a place of my own. I told you before that I invested my winnings... it wasn't completely true. I funded a shelter house downtown- that's where I stay, and sometimes where I work. I have a dresser full of clothes there and a bed, but not much else. Jin... some of the people there are so depressed, I can't do anything for them. I can't help them, I can't even help myself!" Hwoarang's impassioned tale was halted by a finger being placed on his lips.

"Shhhh," Jin soothed quietly. He shut his eyes tight, and though he tried to remain silent, the words came unbidden as though the demon had control: "There'll be time for that. You don't have to stay there if you don't want to; I have plenty of room... if... if you wanted..."

The redhead pulled away almost roughly, quickstepped to the ledge and climbed up on it. Jin's wordless protest was met with a level look. "Jin Kazama, you've always lived in a different world. I always thought I never had a chance with you because of that. Now, I wonder if maybe my world's better after all." He took a deep breath and fell into stance, expression rather grim. "Those people NEED me." Hwoarang started switching leads, not nearly as rapidly as Tora had done, but with increasing balance in spite of the breeze beginning to pick up.

"Hwoarang..." Jin sounded agonized as he stepped forward, hands coming up before he could halt them. "-I- need you..."

The Korean looked calmly into Jin's dark amber eyes and sprang into the air, twisting around to face the other direction. "Get a hold on yourself." He jumped and spun again, a smile slowly coming over his face as he started to lose some of his fear. --This isn't much different than what Master Baek used to have me do, it's just a hell of a lot higher up,-- he thought. "It isn't like I'm going anywh- AAAH!" The sudden gust of wind that slammed into him felt almost solid, making sparks dance in front of his eyes from the force of it. Hwoarang could feel himself falling the wrong way almost in slow motion; he saw his hands reach for the ledge as it passed, saw Jin's panicked face sticking out over the side of the building.

Hwoarang abruptly realized he was going to die... 


	15. Broken Branches and Devil's Surprise

"Broken Branches and Devil's Surprise"

A/N: Sloppy. I'm working on it!

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The sensation of falling, and seeing the building's wall flying by so fast, was nauseating. Hwoarang realized he was screaming at the top of his lungs and looked down; the ground was approaching far too rapidly. He shut his eyes and whispered a regretful prayer in his mind, bracing for fatal impact.

It never came.

Hwoarang felt something latch onto the back of his shirt, and his descent slowed so suddenly he heard the fabric trying to tear. The sensation of falling ended, but he still felt the wind blowing in his face. A long moment passed in which that wind seemed to rip at him still; then he squinted his eyes open ever so slightly. He saw the street not ten yards below him, rushing past nearly as quickly as the vertical wall had done. And he saw a shadow passing over the ground similar to that of a vulture, except for the unusual number of legs sticking out. He remembered in a flash the dream demon's odd shape and flinched. The redhead felt breakfast trying to tear its way out of his stomach, but he swallowed hard and stiffened his resolve. He tilted his head back and felt his heart dropping the rest of the way to the pavement.

Jin's head and shoulders were visible, and... massive ebony wings extending to each side of him, beating only occasionally. Incongruous considering the scraps of white shirt clinging to them. More than the wings, the expression on his face- the construction of the bones even- frightened Hwoarang, similar as it was to the dream. Feral. Predatory. Exotic. The sharply-chiseled face jerked down, brilliant crimson eyes flashing at Hwoarang from close proximity. He remained silent with much effort, but the creature Jin had apparently become did not care; the eyes faced forward again with intense scrutiny. The creature's darkness seemed to leach sunlight from the air around them, and although the city streets were not exactly empty, no-one even noticed their passage.

He didn't remember passing out, but the Korean woke abruptly at the sensation of falling again. He thrashed, half-consciously struggling to get free of the Thing's grip. There was nothing to struggle against. Hwoarang's eyes opened in a flash, yelping as he felt the branches breaking his fall at the same time he saw them. "OW! Ow, OW OW! AAAAAH!" He flung his hand out and grabbed at them, though they were little more than sticks. He caught one and prayed madly as it bent... and bent... seemed to hold for a moment... SNAP.

"AAAAAH!" THUMP.

Hwoarang groaned from where he'd landed, trying to tune out the chittering laughter of a squirrel somewhere above him. The ground was softer than pavement here, but it still stung to smack into! He lay still for a long moment, relishing his breath and the fact he was still alive, and trying to gauge if he'd done any damage to himself aside from wounded pride. He heard something moving in the undergrowth and lifted his head off the ground to see.

The creature that was Jin paced toward him deliberately, wings halfway mantled. The way the muscles stretched and gave beneath the beautiful tan skin was mesmerizing, almost as much as the markings on the face. Almost mesmerizing enough that one could forget the talons and fangs. --FANGS?-- Hwoarang sat up hurriedly and scuttled backward on his rear until it met with something solid. Tree trunk. "J... Jin? Th-thank you for saving my life, um... what are you doing?" The redhead heard the nervousness in his own voice and winced. --So much for confidence.--

Jin's sleek new form paused at the use of the name, and the lovely, fierce head tilted to look at Hwoarang from a different angle. The mouth opened as though trying to form a word, then a silent snarl stole onto the face as Jin leaped forward, wings spread and claws reaching. The redhead felt something inside himself snap; rather like a displaced joint finally returning to normalcy. It hurt for a little, but it felt good too.

The Korean rolled to the side, scrambled to his feet, and jumped onto the winged back as Jin tore past the tree trunk, wrapping his arms around the throat. "Jin," Hwoarang said calmly, with the barest hint of a growl in his voice. "You WILL get a hold of yourself. You will do it NOW."

Jin stopped bucking and clawing in his confusion, looking over his shoulder with eyes suddenly more yellow than red. "Hwoarang." The demonic tattoos faded from his face except for the red one between his eyebrows; as the wings simply disappeared, allowing tattered white scraps of cloth to flutter to the ground, the Japanese reached up to touch the red spot. His fingers jerked back as though scalded. "Hwoarang," he repeated, unhappily. Tears began to well up in his still-too-large eyes and he ducked out of his lover's arms. "Oh god... I thought I lost you back there. I don't know what I would have done if..." Jin turned to face the still-cautious redhead, but couldn't meet his eyes.

"If nothing, I would have been fine if I'd been listening to the wind instead of trying not to watch you," Hwoarang retorted, stepping close and tangling his fingers in the black, spiked hair. He pulled Jin's face down for a kiss and lingered over it in spite of the faint brush of fangs against his lips. When they parted and Jin still wouldn't meet his eyes, the Korean licked the red marking in an attempt to shock him into paying attention. The response was better than he expected.

Jin's body convulsed sharply as a low groan sounded in his throat, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tossed it backward. Hwoarang felt a familiar lightness in his stomach and nipped the exposed bit of throat gently, was answered with a whimper. "Hwoarang... please..."

The redhead couldn't stop the smirk that slowly grew on his face, in spite of the craziness that had just occurred. He didn't know where they were: big deal. Jin's demon seemed to be shifting its perspective on the host's new relationship, and that meant more than place or time. "Please what?" Hwoarang purred.

Jin twined his fingers in his lover's shirt and fell backward, pulling him along into the soft grass. "Please... prove to me you're still alive," he murmured breathlessly as he started running his claws gently across Hwoarang's back. "I love you."

"I love you most," Hwoarang replied in a reverent whisper, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Jin's pliant lips. 


End file.
